


The Siren and The Healer

by Poorlittleklainer



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, College, Klaine, M/M, superhero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14606952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poorlittleklainer/pseuds/Poorlittleklainer
Summary: Kurt Hummel wasn't your ordinary guy. He had a fashion sense that could blow most people away, sarcasm that blew the rest of them away, and did I mention he was also a superhero?





	1. Welcome To My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just had a dream about this and couldn't stop thinking about it and whoops, started writing it? Brief warnings for attempted rape and hate crimes in this chapter by they way.

I’m a perfectly ordinary guy. Or at least, that what I try to sell. On the surface, nobody would expect me to be anything but ordinary. I go to college at NYU where I study music education and work at Vogue.com. I have several friends who go to a dramatic arts college called NYADA, and I room with a (admittedly attractive) pre-med student named Blaine who thankfully was out studying most hours of the night. Which is really important because I am actually anything but ordinary.

At night, I'm not Kurt Hummel, I am The Siren. And I _didn't_ pick that name, I was given it and it stuck so now I'm kinda stuck with it. Because seriously, a siren was a **girl**. A female who enchanted sailors to their deaths and that's so not who I am, let's get that straight right this moment.

Hang on, I'm getting ahead of myself. I should probably explain why I'm not ordinary. It all started in high school. I know, every superhero story starts in high school and I try not to be a cliche but bear with me for a moment.

High school pretty much sucked for me. I was one of the only people bigger than the small minded Ohio town called Lima that I was stuck in. I wasn't a jock, (the brief time I was part of the cheerleading squad doesn't count), I was in the glee club (thereby marking me as the bottom of the social food chain), and I was gay, which didn't exactly help my case. I always knew I had a strong singing voice. I was unique enough that my talents were recognized by many of the other glee clubbers, but never strong enough to fully sway my teacher Mr. Schuester to ever give me a solo that mattered. However, that choir room was not where I got my powers.

The locker room was.

Like I said before. High school sucked. Mostly because of one bully by the name of David Karofsky. He tormented me continuously for the first three years of my life at McKinley. And I only say three because he dropped out and transferred after what I'm about to tell you happened. Anyways, back on track. The guy shoved me into lockers, dumped about every flavor of slushie known to man on my head, and just continuously made my high school life a living hell. I had no clue why until my junior year, where I had the unfortunate pleasure of getting locked in the locker room with him.

I think it started out as a prank. His football buddies locked the two of us in there, probably teasing Karofsky about the resident fag or something like that. All I know, was that he took the opportunity away from the teachers to torment me in a way that he never had before. And no, I'm not talking about beating the shit out of me. Which was what I thought would happen. Instead, he kissed me. He shoved me up against the lockers and practically stuck his tongue down my throat and probably would have tried to do more if my powers hadn't kicked in.

I don't really know why what happened next did. My powers hadn't manifested at all until then, but I just remember the unbelievable fear that went through me when I felt his hands try to pull down my pants. My screams of no and help turned into high pitched screaming and suddenly Karofsky was on the ground holding his head like it was about to explode. I darted away from him, but not before I saw him uncover his ears to see blood on his hands and dripping from both ear canals, as well as his nose.

Karofsky couldn't tell anybody about what happened without me telling people he tried to rape me. He steered clear of me from then on, while I struggled to figure out my newfound powers. I didn't realize what had happened wasn't just limited to hurtful screaming until the next day at glee club when I started singing. Don't get me wrong, my singing could have enchanted anybody before that day, but the stares the group gave me as I sung, they were just... _off_. I couldn't explain it, they looked at me like they would do anything I wanted them to. I stopped singing and they just sat there, silent. The entire room just sat there with eyes that had clouded, I could practically feel their thoughts towards me. I wasn't just Kurt, their friend. It was like I could control their very thoughts. It was over after a couple minutes, but after that I didn't really sing that much in glee club.

So there you have it, that's how my powers began. After that, I figured out exactly what the hell my powers were. As evident from Karofsky’s attack, I could scream in a pitch so loud, anyone who heard drops to the ground in excruciating pain. I generally don't use that for very long. Also, I can enchant people through my voice. This is why the public gave me the moniker The Siren. Because just like the Greek myth, I can enchant the listener and make them practically my slave, for a short time. And unlike the myth, I don't show you your heart's desire or shit like that. And I certainly don't use it to drown the poor soul to death. Oh, and _I'm not a fucking girl._

Sorry. I get a little touchy about that. High school issues, you know?

I also didn't exactly mean to get into the superhero business. When I found out I had powers, I didn't immediately start designing a suit (although the one I have now is pretty amazing if I say so myself). My reaction was definitely more on the what the fuck range of the spectrum. I hid my powers from everyone, my friends, my family. I pretty much ran away from my powers. But the thing is, life has a funny way of doing what you least want it to do to you. I got to New York a couple years ago, and it was amazing. I was a gay kid in paradise. I didn't have to hide who I was, my friends and I were living the dream.

And then of course, I had to be stupid and walk home alone at night. Because, you know, I'm an idiot sometimes. I was walking home and I heard someone screaming. Normally, you just ignore this and keep walking, but then I heard someone saying that word. Fag. My mind went blank and before I knew it I was turning the corner and saw these three guys beating up another guy. They had baseball bats and we're going to town. The guy kept screaming, and the three attackers just kept going, calling him all sorts of names. I was furious, I ran over towards them and grabbed the first guy’s bat, screaming at him about his ignorance. And then the screams turned into moana of pain as one of the other attackers hit me in the side. I could feel the stabbing pain which meant a rib, or multiple, were broken. And like the incident with Karofsky, I lost my mind and just screamed. All three of the attackers, and even the victim, held their head and screamed in pain. I stopped and the three attackers lay on the ground, looking up at me in fear. I heard the sounds of sirens and turned towards the victim, who was looking up at me in a mixture of awe and pain.

“I'm sorry,” I told him, seeing a trickle of blood coming out his ear which I knew wasn't from the attackers. He shook his head, which probably wasn't smart because I remember him groaning in pain right afterwards from the concussion he obviously had.

“You saved my life,” he had stated, and I looked up to see the cops running in our direction, and before I could think I had bolted. The victim put out a statement about the guy who saved him, who defeated his attackers with just his voice, and all of a sudden I was named a hero. Of course, no one knew it was me, but people were talking about him, the savior of the victim from the hate crime. And at some point I realized that people weren't thinking that I was some freak. They thought I was brave, they thought I was a hero. It wasn't all good, of course. There were some crazies who thought I was a mutant or an alien or something like that. But the overwhelming majority of people felt safer thinking that I was out there.

So, I guess the backstory is over now, right? How the powers came about: check. How I became the hero: check. How I hate my superhero name: check.

*******

“And I heard she-”

“Or he-”

“Or he stopped a robbery last night,” one of my coworkers says. I fight back a chuckle as I look down at my computer, totally not eavesdropping on the conversation that is happening at abnormally loud volumes by my desk.

“The police still want to arrest him though,” another one of them says. I glance up, just to see who was talking about me. Of course it's Janet and Claire, the two biggest gossips in the office. I look back down at my computer, scrolling over the article that I was editing for my boss, Isabella Wright.

“Why do you keep thinking that The Siren is a guy? All sirens in mythology were girls,” Janet asks. I narrow my eyebrows in anger at the computer, unable to not after hearing her question.

“Because they finally got a picture of him in his costume, and it is so tight you can see practically everything, if you know what I mean” Claire states.

“Wait, what? There's a picture?” Janet demands. I glance up, a little concerned about the apparent appearance of a picture. I know I wear a mask, I know I don't look like myself in my costume, but I'm still a little concerned about this picture.

I look around my workstation, quickly pulling up Google and typing in the horrific superhero name, The Siren. I click images, and most of them are the same picture. I breathe a tiny sigh of relief when I click it, it's blurry and it’s a side profile, so my face isn't that prominent.

“God damn you're right. That is definitely a guy,” Janet whistles, and I glance up to see her looking at Claire's phone.

“I guess now I can't make fun of you for having a crush on the guy,” Janet says, handing the phone back to Claire. I blush lightly at the statement and exit to picture, returning to my article I need to finish editing for my boss.

Thankfully, Janet and Claire take their discussion away from our desks and to the break room, which gives me time to finish editing the article in time for me to go home. I knock on Isabella's door on the way out, letting her know I was leaving. She thanks me for the hard work, and smiles quickly before returning to her own work.

I take the subway back to campus, where I was surprised to see Blaine actually studying in our room for once. He was hunched over his desk, his lamp lighting up one of his numerous textbooks and scribbling notes frantically.

“Got a test tomorrow?” I ask, knowing that he only gets like this when he had a test. Blaine jumps and turns around, holding a hand to his chest. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose (which I did not think was cute, no matter how many times Rachel said it was) and nodded.

“Yeah, in Hildenheimer’s class,” he states. I wince, not having taken the German man’s class, but knowing from Blaine's experiences, and others, that he was strict and his tests were actually hell.

“You need help studying?” I ask. Blaine looks a little surprised, which I understood. We weren't exactly what you would call friends, but we didn't hate each other. I didn't ever get the chance to really get to know Blaine that much. He was always out studying, and I was usually out on the streets. Hard to get to know someone when you're always out fighting crime and whatever.

“Sure, you can quiz me,” he says, handing over a stack of flashcards. I nod, accepting the stack and sitting on my bed, my back against the wall as I try to pronounce words I probably get wrong anyways. Blaine, for his credit, just smiles and gently corrects me.

Which was totally not cute. Not at all. I hate being corrected, especially from guys who wore cute glasses. Okay, stop it Hummel.

Eventually though, Blaine goes back to studying on his own and I leave with the excuse that I'm going to sleep over at Rachel's apartment. Blaine nods, probably not even hearing what I was saying.

But I didn't go to Rachel's. Instead, I grabbed my costume and took off into the night, just like I always do. Because even though I hate the name...

I do like being The Siren.


	2. Not Just Another Night

At first, when I went out superheroing or whatever you want to call it, I just walked around in a black hoodie with the hood drawn up, walking around the streets looking for trouble. Of course, I didn't realize how much that made me look like I was trouble until some guy pointed out that I looked like I was about to join the muggers over beating them. That was the first clue that it was probably time to get a suit or something.

The second was when my friend Rachel found out there was a superhero that used their voice to enchant the bad guys. Her reaction was pretty memorable. She had said something like it was about time or some kind of crap like that, and then started to get jealous that her voice wasn't the most talented out there.

“Because honestly, this superhero can _literally enchant people with their voice Kurt!_ I need to practice if my voice can get that good,” she said. Of course, I said that was physically impossible, but she wasn't exactly hearing it at the time. A couple days later she suddenly became a huge fan of mine (his? Us? Alternate egos are really confusing sometimes) and was wondering why they didn't have a suit. The name hadn't been created yet, that would happen later, much to my displeasure.

The final clue came when the cops put out a warrant for my arrest. I know, shocking that they would want to arrest a guy who is doing their job for them, but apparently my actions are more like a vigilante and it's all very stupid. But anyways, they put out a warrant for a guy in a black hoodie, and I overheard someone saying something like what you would get from Macy’s.

I was livid. How dare they compare me, Kurt Hummel, to someone who shops in a department store? So I got to work on my suit, making it as fashion forward as I could make it without giving away anything critical to my identity. I'm actually seeing masks get more popular now that people are finding out I wear one. I'm a trendsetter, I know.

Anyways, after I designed the suit and worked out the various prototypes, I quickly figured out I couldn't really go walking through the streets without being recognized, which took a little while to figure out how I would get around New York. It wasn't until I was chasing a mugger over the rooftops that I figured out that most of the buildings are actually close enough to jump across. Or at least, have a fire escape. So that was just another thing I had to learn, how to jump across buildings.

Not my finest idea but it hasn't failed me yet.

Which brings me back to my current position, sitting on the edge of an apartment building rooftop in downtown Manhattan, listening to a borrowed police scanner. Just because they have a warrant for me, doesn't mean they don't need help every so often.

I love the city at night. New York truly was the city that never sleeps. Below me, cabs still line the streets, looking for business. People walked in groups, laughing over one thing or another. The lights from nearby buildings lit up the night sky, practically giving me enough light to see almost anything.

“All units please respond, 10-65 in progress at the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” the police scanner suddenly blared, and I quickly grabbed it and put it in my belt, rushing towards Central Park. As I ran across the buildings, I saw the police lights that signified the cops barricading the museum away from the public.

I see the broken window on the second floor towards the side of the building when I get there, launching myself into it and rolling, wincing slightly as I feel some glass shards pierce my skin. I brush most of it off, figuring I'll get the rest of it later.

I look around once I'm inside, wondering where this robber is going to be. I start walking towards the nearby staircase, looking around at the various exhibits surrounding me. None of these seem important enough to warrant someone stealing them, so what here was important? At times like this, I really wish I was more up to date on the art world. The closest I've ever been to it was the brief time I dated an aspiring artist, and it was only because he literally would not stop talking about this amazing new artist who would be featured next year in-

Oh, here. Okay, I guess dating Vincent did come in handy.

I find a nearby map, figuring out the directions to the newest exhibit from my location. I'm still staring at it when I hear the familiar sound of a gun cocking.

“Twitch, and I shoot,” a heavily accented voice says behind me. I take a deep breath, ready to let out a scream.

“Stop that. Don't move, don't breathe, don't scream,” the voice sounds again, this time shaking. I raise an eyebrow, curious about why his voice was shaking. Before I can do anything, however, the unmistakable thudding of police boots ring out. I turn around, the guy shoots, and I let out a groan as I look down at my arm to see it’s bleeding. Goddamnit, the bullet grazed me.

Tired of this, I let out a long, low hum. The guy, a thicker, older man who probably was a little older than my dad, freezes in place. He glances over at me, his body frozen from my wordless compulsion. I raise an eyebrow at him, watching his breathing pick up.

“Relax, I'm not going to kill you or anything. I just want to know why you guys literally have no creativity. I mean, I swear, I stopped a robbery just like this last night. I think it was down the street too!” I rant, rolling my eyes.

“Hey, I just do what the boss tells me to do, alright?” The man complains. I look at him, confusion clear in the way my eyebrows furrow.

“Boss? Now I have an art theft ring to start to track down too?” I ask him. The man seems to realize his mistake, and his eyes dart to the ground, the only part of him, besides his mouth, that he's able to move.

“Nope, sorry mister. I should probably not say anything more. You know, my mouth always gets me in trouble, can't stop yabbing it you see? The boss, he always complains about it, but I just tell him that he needs me he does. He-” I cut off the man's rambling with another long, higher pitched note than the hum that stopped him. His eyes grow cloudy, his mouth stops moving, and he looks straight ahead almost unseeing.

“Your boss is right, it's annoying. Now, let's get back on track. Who is your boss?” I ask. The man's eyes turn back to me, still cloudy and enchanted.

“Don't know. I've never met him,” he says. I look at him curious, wondering how he works for a guy he's never met before.

“How do you get your jobs then?” I ask.

“He sends couriers. Notes slid under my door, letters written to me that I find in secure places. I've never seen the notes delivered, just know when I get one it means a new job,” the man explains. I take a breath, about to ask another question, but the thudding of police boots get closer, and I start to hear voices next. I turn back to the guy in front of me, his eyes still cloudy which means that he's still enchanted.

“Alright, here’s what's going to happen. You are going to walk towards the front door with your hands up, you are going to let the police take you and surrender peacefully, alright?” I tell him. The man nods in understanding, and by that movement I know the enchantment holding him in place is disappearing. I turn around, about to leave, before I turn back and look at the man.

“Oh, and I almost forgot, let them know about the broken window? Makes everything easier for the police,” I say. The man nods again, and I motion for him to go. I watch as he leaves the room, holding his hands up in the air, and wait until I hear the shouts from the police before I exit the museum from the window.

I look down at my watch when I leave, seeing it was almost three in the morning. With a yawn, I decide the call it a night, especially when the throbbing in my arm returns. I look down, remembering the bullet that grazed my arm, and hold a hand to the wound. When I pull it away, it comes back bloody.

“Fuck,” I whisper, heading back towards my dorm room. I get there relatively quickly, heading straight for the bathroom I was lucky enough to share with only Blaine. The late night wound recovery sessions I sometimes have to endure would be very hard to explain if I had to share a communal bathroom.

I change out of my suit, throwing on some sweatpants and look at my arm in the mirror, determining they need stitches. The few glass shards from my initial entrance in the museum are easily pulled out with tweezers, not needing any other kind of medical attention. I return back to the bullet graze, and pick up my emergency stitches kit. I try to keep my hand steady as I start stitching it up. I don't get very far in though, when the dorm opens and Blaine walks in, stopping mid-step when he sees me.


	3. I Can Explain

Blaine stared at me for a couple seconds, a blush rising to my cheeks as I remember I'm currently wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Then, he sees my arm.

"Kurt! What happened?" He asks, dropping his bag carelessly on the floor before striding forward, grabbing my wrist and pulling my arm towards him. I wince in pain as he does so, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"It was nothing," I say, trying to get back to stitching. Blaine immediately grabs the needle, pulling it away from my shaking hands.

"It's not nothing if you are trying to stitch yourself back together, very poorly I have to add. Why the hell aren't you going to the hospital? Or at least the nurse?" Blaine demands, rummaging around in my emergency first aid kit for more antibacterial swabs.

"Because I'm fine, Blaine. I've had worse," I immediate want to shoot myself in the foot for admitting that, especially when Blaine whirls around on me with a raised eyebrow and an expression that reads _what the fuck are you talking about?_

"Worse than this? If I didn't know any better, I'd say this is a bullet wound or something," Blaine mutters. I look away, silent. Blaine grabs my wrist tighter, and I look over at him to see him staring at me intently.

"Kurt, is this a fucking bullet wound?" He asks.

"It's just a little graze, believe me I've had worse okay?" I admit, my voice going even higher in pitch embarrassingly. Blaine stares at me with an intent expression, his usual demeanor that I can read pretty easily falls back. I can't read the expression on his face as he continues to look at me.

"Are you involved in anything illegal?" Blaine finally asks. I think to all the things the cops want me arrested for. Vigilante work, breaking and entering, probably something about stealing a police scanner in there.

"Depends on what your definition of illegal is," I joke, finally trying to make him crack a smile. Blaine doesn't do anything, just continues to hold my wrist in his tight grip.

"Sorry. Look, I'm not involved in anything bad, okay? Things just got a little out of hand tonight, I'm usually a lot more careful. I promise," I tell him. Blaine doesn't say anything, but he takes a deep sigh, pulling my arm towards him.

"And I guess I should ignore all the glass in the trash, right?" Blaine mumbles, taking the needle and he resumes where I started to stitch my arm, with much more precision and technique than I could ever get from surfing the web.

"That would be appreciated, yeah," I breathe, watching as Blaine looks at my arm with absolute focus. It's funny, up until now, I never realized how his eyes weren't just hazel. They were like molten pots of gold, mixed with greens and browns. He bit his lower lip when he concentrated, I knew that from watching him study every so often, but I've never seen him do it from this close.

"There, done," Blaine quietly says, looking up at me. He inhales sharply, and I realize how close we are in the tiny dorm bathroom we share. After another moment, Blaine pulls away and my cheeks gently heat up.

"I should let you finish cleaning up," Blaine states, his voice sounds loud after the barely heard whispers. I nod, slowly reaching for my tee shirt and carefully pulling it over my head.

"Thank you," I tell him, not turning around to see him returning to his desk. I sigh, reaching for the blood spotted towels and shove them in the trash can, along with the various shards of glass from earlier. I glance at them momentarily, but I figure I would just take them out in the morning after Blaine went to his seven am class. I walk out of the bathroom and glance over at Blaine, who is looking at his textbook and taking notes. I head over to my bed and lay on it, grabbing a book myself and reading.

"What did you mean, by you've had worse?" Blaine suddenly asks. I look over at him, he hasn't turned around, but his pencil stopped moving, which was rare. I sigh, looking at the wall next to me.

"It's fine, Blaine. I didn't mean for you to know anything about this," I admit, finally looking over at him. He turns around in his chair, looking over at me with concern.

"How often do you come back at three am bleeding?" Blaine asks, his voice betraying his worry. I look away, unable to keep my stomach from dropping at the worry in his voice.

"Don't worry, it won't happen again. I was just being stupid," I say, trying to get him to drop the subject before I reveal anything important. But Blaine just doesn't seem to want to give it up.

"That's not an answer," he states. I sigh, looking up at him. It's a little surprising that he's this concerned about me, we've been roommates for the past couple years of college, but I never would have counted us friends. We just lived with each other, we talked and had similar experiences from growing up gay in small towns, but I just thought he had too much to worry about in his pre-med classes to really want to be friends with me.

I have to admit, it's kind of nice to have someone care about me like that, someone who's not Rachel.

"Not often. Don't worry," I tell him. Blaine takes a deep breath, slowly letting it out in a drawn out sigh. He doesn't say anything, but he still stares at me. He looks like he's contemplating asking me something, and I wait. But he just turns around and turns off his lamp light, casting the room into darkness.

"We should probably go to bed," he finally states. I let out a little breath of relief that he seems to drop the subject, and listen as he crawls under the covers of his bed on the other side of the room.

"Goodnight, Kurt," Blaine says softly. I smile slightly as I turn onto my side, closing my eyes.

"Goodnight Blaine," I repeat back. Blaine doesn't say anything more, and I fall asleep unconsciously listening to his breathing.

********

After that night, Blaine always seems to be studying in our room when I return at night. He claims that his study group is meeting during the day now, but I know that he has classes during the time he claims they meet. Part of me wants to think he's there in case I come back hurt again.

The other part reminds me that he's probably tired of always studying in the library until one in the morning. The hopeless romantic is me is quickly shut up by that part of my brain.

Another thing that's changing is the relationship between Blaine and me. Whereas before, the most we talked during the day was passing greetings and questions about who turn it was to refill the mini fridge. Now, he seems to be having an interest in my day, we've spent several nights (before I went out as The Siren) together in the dining hall eating dinner together. Blaine surprisingly loved performing, at one point he wanted to be a performer before he decided to go the safer route and try to be a doctor like his parents wanted. We share our similar stories of being gay in Ohio, laughing about how close we grew up.

I can't help thinking what would have happened if we met in high school.

The most shocking thing I learn about Blaine though, was that he kept himself up-to-date on the actions of New York's superhero.

"I know, it's probably stupid, but I can't help but admiring him," he admits to me one night. I fight the urge to blush, but can't help inquiring more.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I mean, he has these powers and what does he do with them? He tries to make the world a better place. I think we all could take a page out of his book," Blaine admits, his cheeks darkening in a blush as he looks at me. I can't help but smile at how adorable he looks, his eyes lit up and his hands gestured enthusiastically as he talked, nearly hitting his coffee cup over.

"I never thought about it like that," I say. Blaine just takes a sip of coffee, smiling as he continues talking.

"And I have to admit, mind control through your voice, that's a pretty cool power," he says. I laugh, unable to help myself.

"I think it's more like enchanting someone, but I guess mind control works too," I tell him. Blaine looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he nods.

"I like that better. Mind control sounds like something a villain would do," he admits. I continue to chuckle, taking another drink of my coffee as the topic moves onto our respective classes.

I can't help but admitting to myself that the fact that we are getting close is messing with me a bit. Blaine is such an open person, he shares things about himself that are obviously painful, but he lets himself be an open book. Almost every expression on his face is readable, with rare moments when he keeps to himself. But me, I always have to remind myself that I can't give away too much. Because if I give away something, Blaine could deduct that I'm The Siren and reveal it to someone. It's terrible, because I'm finding more and more that I want to let Blaine know about my own fears, my own experiences out there every night.

It sucks, but that's how it has to be. Not only to protect me, but I have to protect Blaine as well.


	4. A Strange Night

"So why music education?" Blaine asks over the rim of his coffee cup, about to take a sip. I raise an eyebrow at his question.

"What do you mean?" I ask. Blaine puts his cup down on the table and leans back in his chair, looking at me with a smile.

"Why do you want to major in that?" He continues to look at me with curiosity, like I'm some interesting riddle that he wants to solve.

"I don't know, I guess because music has helped me so much, I want to share that with others," I explain. Blaine nods, and I look over at him.

"Why pre-med?" I ask. Blaine shrugs, looking down at the table in front of us.

"My parents wanted me to," he says, and I can't help but notice the uncomfortable shift of his weight back and forth on the chair. But as much as I can tell the subject makes him uncomfortable, I can't help but continue to pry.

"Do you like it at least?" I ask. Blaine finally looks over at me, but I can still see the discomfort in his eyes.

"I mean, yeah. But sometimes I can't help wonder what would have happened if I ignored them and pursued performing," he says.

"Yeah, I guess some people can't be as lucky as my friend Rachel. Her dads pretty much put her on the path for performing before she could even walk," I tell him. Blaine smiles sadly at me, and I immediately regret making him talk about it.

"Yeah, I guess so. But I mean, I certainly don't mind. I'm sure I annoy you with how much I sing in the dorm room, so it's not like I've stopped singing and performing at karaoke bars sometimes," Blaine jokes. I laugh, and he thankfully he chuckles along with me.

"I'd be annoyed if you were terrible, but you do have a great voice Blaine," I tell him, surprising even myself when I wink at him. Blaine's cheeks blush, and my own even warm up. Crap, I can't flirt with him. Not only is he my roommate, but I have to protect him in case anybody ever finds out who I really am.

"Thank you, Kurt," Blaine's phone alarm sounds, and he sighs before getting up and throwing his empty coffee cup away.

"Time for class?" I ask. Blaine nods, grabbing his bag.

"Yeah. Thanks for the coffee, Kurt. I'll see you later?" He asks. I nod, and with one last smile, watch him walk out of the Starbucks we had on campus.

That night wasn't too eventful. I hung out around the worse parts of the city, but there wasn't any activity. It was like all the criminals decided to take the night off. Maybe I could actually turn in early, catch up on some sleep and-

"All units, 10-61 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, please respond," the police scanner suddenly states. I look at it, shocked that there was another armed robbery at the museum. It was only a couple weeks ago that I stopped one at the very same location after all.

"10-61 in progress at the Museum of Modern Art, please respond," the scanner states again. Wait, what the hell is going on? Two armed robberies at two seperate museums at the same time?

"Museum of Arts and Design, available units please respond to a 10-61 in progress," the scanner blares again. Again, what the hell is going on?

"Fuck!" I say, knowing I can't be three places at once. I think for a moment, trying to remember where the police will probably converge least. I take a guess and go to the last museum the dispatcher said, figuring most of the cops would have gone to the first two robberies.

I guessed right, I find when I get there. There was only a couple cop cars outside, and I look around for a good entrance. I spy a window that I could shimmy myself through, and ignore the alarm that probably occurred when I did. The police were already here, after all.

I have to find this guy quickly, I think to myself. I look around, trying to figure out where the hell this guy would go. I run through the place, searching around and keeping an eye out for the robber.

I'm heading for the next room when I hear them. Two guys are struggling to lift an enormous painting. I walk over to them, already humming. They turn to me, but their eyes are already clouding over, their thoughts belonging to me. I make them put the painting back, and make them walk out of the building with their hands up, their gun safety on. I stick around long enough to see the cops there tackle them to the ground, and then take off to the next museum closest to me.

When I get to the Museum of Modern Art, there were many more cop cars surrounding the building, as well as several news cars. Again, I break my way into the building through the same window the robbers broke in through, and have to waste precious time trying to find the guys.

I search the entire building, my body exhausted from all the stairs I run up and down, but I am the only one in the building.

"Fuck," I let myself scream, windows break from the force of my scream, and I look over at it. "Crap," I whisper, knowing that this will only make the police angrier at me.

Again, why they have an arrest warrant for me, I have no idea.

I already know what is going to be waiting for me at the third museum, but I head over there anyways. The cops are already in the building, and I hang around outside waiting for them. If they need help, I'll break in. But they come out empty handed, and I can practically feel their anger at letting the thieves leave with their prize.

I look down at my watch, the time was almost three, when I usually call it a night. And tonight was a pretty unsuccessful one. I take off my suit, throwing on a pair of simple jeans and a hoodie as I head for the subway.

Three art thefts in one night? Well, I stopped one, but why is there suddenly a huge uprise in art thefts? I think back to the night a couple weeks ago, what I learned from the one guy I stopped at the Metropolitan museum.

_"He sends couriers."_ This "boss" never made contact with this guy, I wonder if these three latest robberies are related, I figure they probably are. But in order to make sure, I need more information. And the only way I can do that is--crap.

I gotta go talk to the police.

But, in the meantime, I need to get some sleep. Thankfully, I don't have to wait long for the subway to NYU, and so I'm walking into my room a little after 3:30. I try to be as quiet as possible, hearing the slow breathing from Blaine.

"Kurt?" Blaine suddenly asks. I jump in surprise, turning around to see Blaine moving. He hits the light from the lamp next to his bedside, casting enough light to see.

"Hey, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up," I say softly. Blaine shakes his head, sitting up on his pillows.

"It's fine. What time is it?" He asks.

"A little after three thirty," I say, walking towards the bathroom. The bright fluorescent light in there seems blinding compared to the soft glow of the bedside lamp, so it takes a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust.

"Hey Kurt, can I ask you something?" Blaine asks. I turn around, looking at him still sitting on his bed.

"Yeah," I turn, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

"Where do you go at night?" Blaine asks. I look away, trying to figure out how to answer without making him upset, or giving away anything important.

"I'm just worried. You said it depended on my definition of illegal, which doesn't exactly calm me down," Blaine continues. I sigh, unable to look at him.

"It's nothing too bad, I promise. I just, can't really tell you a whole lot," I tell him.

"Is it a fight club or something?" Blaine asks. I laugh, unable to help myself.

"Can you really see me being involved in a fight club, Blaine?" I ask him, watching as Blaine smiles shyly. I can't help but grin, still chuckling.

"I don't know, you just said you couldn't tell me anything and my mind went to fight club. And," he trails off, his smile disappearing, "that night, when you were hurt. I couldn't help but notice how many scars you have." I sigh, knowing Blaine would have been an idiot not to notice. But I had hoped, he hadn't said anything so far, I thought that maybe he had forgotten or something.

"Those aren't from these nights, I swear," I tell him, looking away and heading back into the bathroom. I hoped by doing that, he would drop the subject. And at first, I thought he had. He was completely silent as I cleaned myself up, so I figured he went back to sleep. But when I walk out, he was still awake.

"What are they from then?" He asks. I avoid his eyes, getting into my own bed.

"It's better left in the past, Blaine," I tell him.

"How come you never tell me anything? Every time I ask you something, you keep pushing me away?" Blaine demands, his voice betraying his anger. I sigh, knowing he's completely right.

"Please, Blaine, can you just drop it?" I ask him, finally looking at him. We stare at each other, me pleading with Blaine to just drop the subject. He finally sighs, and drops his gaze away from mine.

"For now," I hear him whisper, and watch as he turns off the lamp light and rolls over.

"Goodnight Kurt," he says. I sigh softly, looking at him as he lays there on his bed. He laid there, so vulnerable. I think what might happen if he ever learns the truth, how much danger he would be in if anybody found out who I really was. Blaine, who has the bright future of saving countless lives, who sung with so much passion in his voice, who has quickly become my best friend. No, he can never find out who I am, not if I want to keep him from harm.

"Goodnight Blaine," I finally whisper, but I'm pretty sure he was already asleep.


	5. Information and Informants

The next day, I didn't have any classes to attend. So I decide that now was probably a pretty good time to go talk to my contact at the police station about this sudden increase in art thefts. She is the only member of the police force who knows that I am The Siren, and the reason for that was a complete and utter accident.

It was when I first started trying out the suit, and at that point the mask was one of those silly ones you tie on the back of your head. The cops had gotten into a shoutout with a drug bust gone wrong, and I stepped in and helped them out. This was before they put out an arrest warrant for me, so my actions were met with thanks instead of attempts to put on handcuffs. The drug dealers were all loaded up and the cops leaving, when my mask came untied and fell off, right in front of the _one_ person who knew me from high school.

Santana Lopez.

She was obviously surprised, of course. But also thankful and then made some sort of comment about how I need to get a better mask. And _of course_ she had to comment on the name. She always does.

The NYPD station was always bustling with activity, and today was no different. The bullpen was filled with people in uniform working on the various cases on their departments, and as I sign myself in, I notice my face on the wanted list. It was a blurry picture of my side profile, from the picture that showed everyone that The Siren was actually a guy (finally).

“Here's your ID back, Mr. Hummel,” the receptionist hands me my drivers license and a guest pass, which I clip to the front of my jacket. I thank the lady working there and walk pass the bullpen and towards the back where the offices lay, as well as another, less chaotic, bullpen. I don't have to look around very long before I spot Santana standing next to a board, which is filled with several pictures of the recent stolen artwork, as well as mugshots from the previous robbers. There were a couple more mugs of people I didn't know, who I guess the police thought were important to the case.

“Porcelain, what are you doing here?” I look away from the board to see Santana has turned around, spotting me standing in the hallway.

“Nice to see you too, Satan,” I tell her, walking quickly over and looking at the board. She eyes me, and then nods her head in understanding.

“I should have known. Come on, my lunch break is pretty soon and I'm sure people won't mind if I leave early,” Santana says.

“Your lunch isn't for another three hours, Santana,” one of the nearby cops remarks. Santana turns to them and gives the poor guy her patented bitch glare.

“Do I look like I give a fuck, Zebrowski?” Santana asks. The guy, Zebrowski, quickly shakes his head and turns back to his work. Santana grabs a bag, and then my arm.

“Come on Hummel, I'm craving some coffee and you're buying,” she states, dragging me out of the precinct and literally just across the street is a Starbucks. Granted, there is one on every street corner of New York, but I just find it a little funny that there's a coffee shop directly across from the police station.

“So, what's up with you, Lady Hummel? I hear you're still zipping across New York in spandex,” Santana sips her coffee while looking across the table at me. I glance over my shoulder, the din helps mask our conversation but I'm still terrified someone will overhear her.

“Santana, can't you be a little quieter?” I glare at her. Santana shrugs, but says nothing. I sigh, already exasperated before we even started. I knew this would happen. Santana knows I need information, and I am apparently her entertainment for the morning.

“Look, I need your help,” I continue, watching as she leans back in her chair with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“I know, what do you know?” She asks.

“I know that there is suddenly a lot more art thefts, and that's pretty much it,” I say. Santana laughs, her smirk growing wider.

“For once we’re actually ahead of the great Siren,” she laughs, and again I glance around us, but nobody seems to be listening in on us.

“So do you guys even need my help? Is it that small?” I ask. Santana immediately stops laughing and sighs, losing her smirk and leaning toward me.

“No, we could definitely use your help, Kurt. These guys are good. They know where the most valuable stuff is going to be, they strike and leave before we can even get in the building. The two guys you caught are the only guys we have in custody,” she explains.

“So what do you guys know?” I ask.

“The people who do the actual robbing generally aren't part of the organization. They're mercs, they follow instructions and get handed their share of the money. From what we know, the hierarchy comes from over in Europe. Paris was their latest stomping ground, and Interpol hasn't gotten much more than we have now. Basically, you've got your big boss, who nobody knows who the fuck he is. He controls three lesser bosses, again, nobody knows any of their names. That's pretty much all we got so far,” she explains, leaning back in her chair and drinking more of her coffee. I sigh, leaning back myself and soaking in the new information.

“What about the stuff they've stolen so far? Any luck getting those back?” I ask. Santana nods.

“The white collar crime division gave us a couple fences that they might go to. One of them we've been watching for a while, and we are pretty sure she’s working for them,” she explains.

“Do you have a name?” I ask. Santana smiles as she nods her head.

“Yeah, her name is Abigail Farms. She's good too, she gets a lot of stuff across the borders without us knowing about it until it's too late,” Santana says.

“I might just have to pay her a visit then,” I smirk, crossing my arms across my chest. Santana grins.

“If you ever need backup, you know where to find me,” she says. I nod, looking down at the time on my cell phone.

“I should probably let you get back to work before Zebrowski tells your boss you left or something like that,” I tell her. Santana laughs, but still gets up with me.

“Please, he's too chicken shit to actually tell Charlie anything,” she chuckles, and walks through the door I hold open for her. Outside the precinct, she grabs my arm.

“Hummel, so me a favor and call me before you go charging in wherever you go? These guys are dangerous-”

“I've handled dangerous before, Santana,” I interrupt, resulting in me being the recipient of her bitch glare this time.

“I'm serious, Kurt. Some of the stories Interpol told us, it's pretty heavy stuff,” she trails off, and I can't help but bump her shoulder with mine.

“I promise. And if I didn't know you any better, I'd say you cared, Satan,” I grin, watching as Santana rolls her eyes and reverts back to the classic bitchy Santana we all know and sometimes love.

“Please, I just so don't want the job of scraping bits of you off the walls. I’m pretty sure I'd get covered in glitter,” she snarks. I laugh, telling her goodbye and catching the next subway to NYADA.

I meet up with Rachel outside of her dorm building, accepting her hug without reluctance. It seems like it's been awhile since we last hung out together. She wraps an arm around my waist and I lay my own on her shoulders as we walk towards our favorite little Italian shop for lunch.

“So, Kurt. How's Blaine?” Rachel asks suddenly. I nearly choke on my food when she says that. The two of them haven't even met, and I don't really talk that much about him when we are together (or at least I think I don't?).

“Um, good,” I tell her, trailing off in confusion about the direction of this conversation.

“Really? He's not in the hospital or anything like that?” She asks. Again, I look at her confused. Where the hell did she get that he was in the hospital?

“No, he's not. Why?” I ask her. Rachel shrugs.

“Oh, I just figured something had to be going on with him. Because you've cancelled on me three times in order to hang out with Blaine. I mean, the guy is your roommate so I figure he was in the hospital or something,” Rachel grins, and my cheeks immediately redden at the look she gives me.

“I haven't cancelled on you _three_ times,” I mumble, and Rachel's stupid smirk just widens.

“And you haven't really shut up about him since we sat down. I think I get the fact that you're in love with him,” I almost choke on my food again when she says that. My cheeks turn the color of the spaghetti sauce as Rachel continues to grin.

“I--I'm not,” I sputter, which just cause Rachel to finally burst out laughing. “I'm not in love with him,” I finally say, which just causes her to laugh harder.

“Okay, whatever you say. I'll just pretend like you weren't going on about the fact that he wants to become a pediatrician for the last ten minutes,” Rachel grins as she takes another bite of her food. I fight the urge to slam my head against the nearby wall as she looks at me with that self satisfied look on her face.

“Just do me a favor, Rachel, and talk about yourself again,” I mumble, hearing Rachel start laughing and launches herself into the next topic about her upcoming showcase. I sigh as I pretend to listen, nodding along every so often as I think.

Blaine is actually amazing. He's smart, insanely talented, incredibly passionate. He's a great friend. And no matter how much my heart seems to skip a beat when I see him the next time, no matter how much my stomach drops whenever I have to refer to him as just a friend, no matter what, it has to stay that way. Because I know that Blaine is amazing, but Blaine will always have to remain my amazing friend.


	6. Newfound Abilities

It turns out, Santana calls me before I even start planning on talking to this Abigail Farms. A couple days after we met up, she called me and told me about an auction some of the white collar guys heard she was putting on. It was supposedly super hard to get into, but according to Santana, the police were sending her in undercover.

“I could really use a backup on the inside, if you know what I mean,” she had stated. I quickly agreed, not only wanting to help her out, but also it gave me a chance to help keep her safe too.

Which was why, that Saturday night, I walked into a heavily armed building filled with people who would kill me on sight if they knew who I really was. Oh, also, let’s not forget the army of police cars outside that currently are filled with police who want to arrest me. Wow, this night is going to go fantastic.

“What's up, Lady Lips?” Santana says, making me jump in fright as she seems to literally appear right next to me.

“What the hell, Santana?” I glare at her, and she even has the audacity to laugh. She currently was dressed to the nines, wearing a skintight red dress that was short and very low cut, leaving little to the imagination. But somehow, on others that dress would be the sluttiest thing imaginable, she manages to pull it off elegantly.

“Where's your gun? Please tell me you didn't come in here without it?” I whisper, letting her loop an arm around my own and walk past a group of men who immediately turn and watch her pass.

“You don't want to know, Hummel,” she grins, accepting a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters. I raise an eyebrow as she takes a sip.

“Oh fine, I won't drink on the job then,” she grumbles, putting the still full glass on the table next to us. I look around the room with her, watching as it fills with more and more people, all of them dressed to show expensive tastes. I'm immediately glad that Isabel let me borrow the red Armani suit I'm currently wearing, feeling a little less out of place.

“So, when are your buddies outside supposed to come in? Because I'd like to get this done and leave before then. You know, because you want to arrest me,” I ask Santana. She laughs, and gestures towards her bracelet.

“If shit hits the fan, I'm supposed to break this. It'll send an alert. But, in the meantime, I'm supposed to try and get this fence alone so we can try to flip her. If that doesn't work, we blow this joint,” she explains. I nod, looking around the crowd and trying to find the face of Abigail Farms. She seems to be hiding from the party, and that's honestly the only thing this could be called. It was a party filled with rich criminals who had a penchant for stolen art.

An hour later and we still hadn't found Abigail. However, bodyguards begin herding everybody into a large room, filled with neat rows of seats. Santana and I take two towards the back, and we finally see Abigail for the first time.

Even I had to be impressed with the beautiful gown she was wearing. From this distance, I couldn't make out who the designer was, but I got so distracted by it, Santana had of punch me in the arm, hissing “focus” under her breath to make myself remember why we were here.

“I think it's going to be a little difficult to get her alone, Santana,” I whisper to her. Santana looks around the room, and I see at least five bodyguards on the walls, and several more undoubtedly will be mixed in with the audience. Also, backstage will probably be teaming with armed guards, and I would bet my life Ms. Farms was hiding a gun somewhere on her person.

“Come with me, and follow my lead,” Santana grabs my hand and drags me away. We head for the door, and Santana stumbles into my body laughing hysterically.

“Babe, come on, I'm so horny,” she says too loudly, slurring her words and acting like she's drunk. I internally groan at her plan, but nethertheless wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her in and trying to morph my face into a drunken grin.

“I can fix that,” I fake whisper, letting her pull me past the guards and into the deserted hallway. Once out of sight, she immediately lets go of me, and we both practically spring away from each other.

“Nice acting, Hummel,” Santana states, looking surprised. I roll my eyes, smoothing down my jacket and getting nonexistent wrinkles out.

“Was that a compliment, Santana? Wow you must really be drunk,” I say, watching Santana roll her own eyes and start walking down the hall. I can hear the auction going on, and at this point I'm just following Santana's lead. We head backstage, looking around for a place we could hide our conversation with Abigail Farms.

“How are we getting her alone?” I ask Santana.

“I don't exactly know. I'm kind of making shit up at this point,” Santana responds, grabbing my hand and dragging me into an open janitors closet.

“I have an idea. You are not going to like it though,” she says, and for once she looks genuinely apologetic at what was about to happen.

In hindsight, that should have been my first clue that shit was going to hit the fan.

“Do what you have to,” I whisper, watching as she takes her bracelet off her wrist. She holds it up momentarily, and I get what she's about to do seconds before she drops it to the ground and stomps on it, shattering the fake gems.

“Lets go!” She grabs my hand again and runs out of the room. We sprint out way past several guards who take a moment too long looking at us, because then we hear them.

“NYPD! Everybody freeze,” the police shout, and pandemonium ensues. I hear gunshots as people open fire, and duck my head instinctively. We rush the stage and Santana reaches up her dress and pulls out her gun.

“Ms. Farms, you should come with me,” she states, pointing the gun at the woman. Nearby bodyguards don't have a chance to move before I'm letting out a loud scream, causing everyone in earshot to stop what they're doing and hold their head a in pain. I dart forward and grab Abigail’s arm and drag her away, Santana not far behind while letting lose a couple gunshots behind us as the bodyguards recover. I let Santana lead us towards an empty room, where she locks the door and looks at me.

“What now?” I ask, panicking slightly. Between the gunfight outside and the chaos in here, I have no clue what we were going to do.

“Don't know, didn't really plan this far ahead,” Santana shrugs, grabbing Abigail's arms and pulling her towards a nearby chair.

“Listen here, sister. We want the names of the people you work for, so either you do this the easy way and tell us. Or I will show you how we get information back in my hometown, your choice,” Santana says, inches away from Abigail’s face. A moment of silence passes, before Abigail speaks.

“I will never betray my friends, unlike street rats like you,” she states in a heavy Russian accent, finishing it off by spitting in Santana's face. I was actually proud of how Santana handled that. I totally thought she would attack Abigail, and I'd end up having to enchant both of them so we could get the information we needed. But Santana just stepped back, wiping off her face, and looked over at me.

“Show them how we do it back home, Porcelain,” she gestures for me to take over. I step forward and Abigail raises an eyebrow at me, and I do what feels natural. I actually never full out sing when I go all Siren. I usually just hum a few bars under my breath and I enchant people enough to plant thoughts in their head. But I started singing the opening bars of _Don't Stop Believing_ for some reason. Maybe it was what Santana said about what we did back in Ohio, but I actually sung the lyrics and all. By the time I finish with the first chorus, Abigail's eyes are clouded and I swear, I can feel her entire consciousness in my head.

“Holy crap that is so fucking cool,” Santana breathes. I wince, putting a hand to my head as I look at Abigail’s clouded eyes.

“I swear, this is probably the deepest anyone's ever gotten,” I say. Santana smirks, and I wince at the throbbing in my head.

“Damn Hummel. If I had known about that I might have hit you up before I turned lesbian,” she says. I groan, not only from her words but also because of the pressure in my head. I hear the whispering of thoughts that aren't my own in my head, followed by images from a life that wasn't mine.

“Santana, get your mind out of the gutter,” I tell her.

“I'm just saying, I could have taught you a thing or two about amazing blowjobs-”

“Santana, you are a lesbian,” I groan again, this time completely from her words. I don't even need to turn around to know that she is grinning ear to ear at my discomfort.

“Oh god I'm going to have such a huge headache after this,” I wince. Santana finally sobers up, and I feel her place a hand on my shoulder.

“What do you mean, Hummel?” She asks. I straighten up, looking over between Santana and Abigail.

“It's hard to explain, but I feel like I'm inside her head right now,” I try to summarize, leaving out the excruciating pain that feels like my head is about to explode.

“Do you think you could get the name of at least one of the bosses?” Santana asks. I nod, looking at Abigail, who's staring straight ahead, completely transfixed.

“I think I could honestly make her forget this too,” I say. Santana looks shocked, and I'm honestly shocked myself. I have no idea if that would even work, if there was such a thing as compelling people's memories away. But I figure, I could maybe block them? Like trauma victims, their minds block certain events because it's easier to forget them than to relive them. So I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and letting myself search in this strange new mind that I seem to have unlocked.

“Who do you work for?” I ask, opening my eyes and seeing Abigail’s cloudy ones look straight through me.

“Myself,” she answers. I sigh, reaching for her mind again.

“Who is your most recent client, the one who gave you the artwork from recent museum heists?” I ask again, rephrasing my question.

“A man called Thomas Vincent,” I turn to Santana, but she's already a step ahead of me.

“Do you know anything about this man?” Santana asks. Abigail remains silent, so I retreat her question.

“No,” Abigail states. I sigh, looking over at Santana. She shrugs, and I turn back to Abigail. Now for the hard part.

“Abigail, listen to me carefully. You are not going to remember telling us the name Thomas Vincent. You're not going to remember talking to us at all. You're going to remember Santana and I dragging you away, but you escaped when we were distracted by the gunfight outside. You ran out the back alley and got to safety,” I tell her, watching Abigail nod in understanding. I look over at Santana, wordlessly asking her if she wants to add anything. She shakes her head, and I look back at Abigail.

“Alright, go,” I tell her, watching as her eyes slowly focus in again. Seconds later, she screams as she regains full control of her mind again, but instead of calling for help, she rushes towards the door, and I quickly follow after. I watch as she exits out a side entrance, and turn back to Santana. Moments later, I slide to the floor holding my head with the worst headache of my life.

“Holy fucking hell I’m never doing that again,” I moan in pain, and squeezing my eyes shut. The dim light in the room seems like it's a supernova to my head right now. Santana grabs my arm and helps me to my feet. I groan as the world around me sways.

“Steady there, Hummel. You did a good job. Now, let's get you out of here,” Santana says, supporting my weight as we follow the path Abigail took out of the building. I feel her set me on the ground, saying something about checking in, but my head hurts too much to pay a lot of attention to what she's saying.

I am vaguely aware I'm going to kill her for letting me sit on the ground in this suit. I will murder her. As soon as my head stops exploding on me over and over.

I feel Santana come back not too much longer later, mumbling under her breath. I feel her put me into a cab, I think I lay my head on her lap at one point, but I'm not really sure. It's really a blur from that point to my dorm, but I am aware of Santana helping me into the dorm room and onto my bed. She leaves me there, I think she says thank you before leaving, but that probably my imagination.

It's proof as to how much my head was hurting that I don't move to take off the suit before letting myself drift to sleep. 


	7. Tensions Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, sometimes I wish I could be that author who had a set update schedule like once a week kind of thing. I feel like sometimes that would be easier for all of us, but I end up just writing whenever inspiration strikes. Sorry if that annoys some of you.

I'm woken abruptly by the door closing in an attempt to be quiet. My head pounds as I look up, seeing Blaine walking slowly past towards the bathroom. And even through the pain in my head, I can easily make out the undone bow tie around his neck, the shoes he sets by the bed, and what surprises me is the head full of curls that have the unmistakable look of sleeping in his hair gel. It hits me then, that he's walking the Walk of Shame.

Oh. Wow. I did not expect the feeling of a knife twisting its way inside my chest at that realization.

Blaine disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower turn on. I roll over onto my side, convincing myself the queasy feeling in my stomach is from the headache. After all, my head does feel like I have the mother of all hangovers right now. But no matter what I do, I can't seem to reason with the hurt in my chest, the knife just keeps twisting itself deeper and deeper the more I think about it. Blaine was walking the Walk of Shame, there's no mistaking that. But I have no right to feel like this. To feel like Blaine betrayed me, like he was the one who drove the knife into my chest.

My thoughts are interrupted by the bathroom door opening and Blaine walks out in a pair of NYU sweatpants and a plain white tee shirt. He sees me up, and I watch as he cheeks turn red and he looks away in obvious embarrassment.

“Hey, I hope I didn't wake you up,” he says. I sit there in silence, trying to figure out how to talk to him when the hurt in my chest feels like it's more painful than the hurt in my head.

“Fun night?” Is all I can say, and even then it seems like I'm spitting it out, anger welling up in me. Which, again, confuses the hell out of me because I have no right to be angry. Blaine can do whatever the fuck he wants, it's not like I'm imagining him in the arms of some unknown guy and they are kissing and laughing and-

Okay, I really need to stop before I actually throw up.

“Um, yeah. One of my friends from class invited me to a party at his frat,” Blaine states, heading for his bed. He glances over at me, but I can't hold his gaze, terrified he'll see the hurt brimming in my eyes.

“Oh, I see,” I state stupidly, wanting so badly to ask if what I'm thinking is true, but at the same time terrified to find out the answer. So I lay there in silent agony, listening as Blaine slowly falls asleep.

Only when I'm positive he's sound asleep do I let the silent tears fall.

*******

It seems like these trips to the police station are becoming a regular thing now. I briefly think that somehow this might turn dangerous, visiting the station so much, but then I think about how stupid that sounds. Nobody would ever expect Kurt Hummel to be The Siren, besides, nobody here even knows me. Outside of Santana of course.

“Are you trying to make us a walking cliche, Kurt?” Santana asks, eyeing the two coffees and donuts I'm carrying. I hand the donuts to Santana’s partner, Jacob Zebrowski, as was our arrangement for his silence.

I know, even I was surprised at the ease it took to buy a cop’s silence with donuts.

“Well if the shoe fits,” I shrug at Santana, handing her her coffee. She just glares at me as I take a sip of my own cup, glancing over at their police board that was filled with notes and pictures of Abigail Farms and her known associates. I can't help but see a blank mug shot where the name Thomas Vincent was written underneath in red marker.

“Lets go, Hummel,” Santana says, pulling me back to myself. I notice that Jacob was looking at me curiously, no doubt because I was staring so intensely at their board. But he doesn't say anything, and neither do I. I just let Santana drag me out of the building and across the street where I just stopped to grab our coffees.

We sit there and talk about the current process regarding learning who Thomas Vincent was. Santana tells me what the police department was doing, and I tell her how I'm handling things from my end.

“None of my regular contacts on the street know who he is. Everybody I ask about knows about the _existence_ of the ring, but not anything _about_ them,” I tell her. She nods, having hit a dead end on her side too.

“It's like he doesn't even exist. I'm starting to think that he gave Farms a fake name,” Santana says. I sigh, looking out the window at all the people passing by on the streets.

“That's entirely possible. And there's nothing new from anything that Interpol sent to you guys?” I ask. Santana shakes her head.

“No, the only mentions of names for any of the bosses were stupid nicknames they were given. My guess is Thomas Vincent is the guy they named The Painter. He's the one who handles all the fences and deals with all the stolen artwork,” Santana says.

“What about the other two? What are their jobs?” I ask.

“Well, the three of the lesser bosses each have their own areas of expertise. Like I said, The Painter handles all of the artwork and deals with the fences. Mr. Banks is the money man. He's in charge of everything dealing with money. And finally, you have The Employer. He's the one who handles the thugs and mercenaries that take the artwork,” she explains. I run through this information in my head, trying to remember anybody I talked to if they would know any of this information.

“I'll talk to more people tonight. Maybe if I mention the nicknames they will recognize them,” I tell her.

“I wouldn't hold my breath, but go for it,” Santana says. She stands up and gathers her things. A quick goodbye and she's out the door and back in the police station. I sit there at my table, sighing as I think about how stuck we are. And the best part of it all was, we had no idea how long this organization would stay in New York. According to Santana and Interpol, the longest they’ve ever stayed was a year in Belgium.

I sigh again, finally getting up and heading back to campus, just in time for my first class of the day.

*********

“I can’t, Blaine. I have a lot of studying to do,” I tell him, looking up from my corner desk where he's leaning against the wall. He looks down at me, his face morphed into a slight pout as I tell him I can't go to dinner with him.

“No you don't. I know you, Kurt. You've finished studying, and this is the third time you've bailed on me, and today of all days! We always eat dinner together on Wednesdays, it's our tradition,” Blaine says. I sigh, looking over at the entirely finished pile of homework I had.

“I'm sorry, Blaine. But I have so much work to do it's not even funny,” I lie, trying not to feel terrible about the crestfallen look on Blaine's face. I fail.

“You've been avoiding me for the past five days, Kurt. I think this is the first time we've talked since Saturday morning,” he states. My stomach twists in knots when he brings up that terrible morning, but I have my back to him so I'm sure he didn't see the look on my face.

“I haven't been avoiding you, I've just been really busy,” I state, not letting myself look at Blaine. If I don't look at him, he won't be able to see right through me and see the lies I'm telling him.

“Kurt, please, just tell me what's bothering you?” Blaine asks. I sigh, not saying anything. I hear Blaine move from his spot on the wall, and hear the springs of my mattress as he sits down.

“Kurt, just look at me, please,” Blaine asks. My stomach clenches at his words, and I find myself spinning in the chair and look over at Blaine for what was probably the first time since Saturday. He sat there, his hazel eyes filled with some sort of emotion I had trouble figuring out what it was.

“Is this about what happened at the party, Friday night? Because I keep thinking back and you started avoiding me after I came back to the room Saturday morning and I can only think about what that probably looked like and-”

“What do you want me to say, Blaine?” I interrupt his rambling.

“The truth, for once,” Blaine snaps, standing up from his spot on the bed as frustration appears in his voice and body.

“You mean that for some reason I hate the fact you probably slept with some other guy? Well there you go, Blaine!” I snap back, his anger and frustration sparking my own.

“Is that what this is about? I was drunk, Kurt! I was drunk and made a stupid mistake and I regret it. Besides, why do you even care?” Blaine demands. My heart stops, skips several beats and I can't stand to look at him anymore. Those eyes of his have a habit of drawing out the emotions in me I try to hide, like how much I hate this unknown guy who slept with Blaine. Like how much I regret how things have to be.

“Because I'm your friend, Blaine!” I don't yell, but my voice raises in volume slightly.

“Yeah, you sure are acting like it! Ignoring me for five days instead of just telling me what you were feeling,” Blaine states, his voice deadly calm and I realize too late this conversation is getting too dangerous. Because if it continues like this I could very well say something that I shouldn't.

Like how much I wish it was me that night.

“I don't even know how I'm feeling, Blaine. All I know is that I don't want it to happen again,” I stop, looking over at Blaine before letting out a breath, “I care about you too much,” I finally breathe out. Blaine stops his fidgeting, his anger disappears from his face, and he sits back on my bed.

“I care about you too, Kurt,” it seems like a whisper, after the nearly yelled fight we just had. The knife in my heart seems to disappear for a second when he says that. But it just stabs right back in when I make myself look away from Blaine. The emotions in his eyes are playing with my own, making those dangerous words hover on my lips. I care about you as more than just a friend, Blaine.

“I should get back to studying,” I say softly. I don't look over at Blaine. I close my eyes so I'm not tempted, unable to let myself see what no doubt would be a hurt expression on his face. He doesn't say anything, I just hear him stand up off my bed. He lingers for a moment, before I hear him slowly walk out the door.

I wait until it closes before opening my eyes, surprised at the tear that falls down my cheek as I do so.


	8. Revealed

For the next couple of weeks it's like my life went back to how it was last year. The art ring went dead silent, no thefts, no fences, nothing. I went out at night, every night, always on the lookout but nothing ever happened from them. So I went back to helping out muggings and bashings and the everyday street crime. And when I returned to the dorm room, Blaine wasn't there again.

He says he was studying at the library more now that his classes are getting harder. We haven't talked much since that night two weeks ago, when I probably revealed more than I should have. I've kind of been avoiding him a little, but in my defense he's doing a lot of avoiding of me too. Before, we would eat dinner together a couple times a week. Now, we barely see each other anymore.

Like I said, these past couple weeks have transported me back to what it was like my first year here in New York.

It all changed, however, Saturday night. That morning, I walked down to the police station to meet up with Santana. We had decided to make it a regular thing as we both tried to get this art ring figured out. Unlike me, she went straight into the police force after moving out here so she didn't have school to deal with. So the weekends were the best time that we could meet up and talk about the art ring. Of course, we can't discuss it in the station, seeing as she technically needs to arrest me on sight.

So, I walked in that morning, empty handed that time. Hey, I'm a college student, I don't have the money to be spending on coffee and donuts every weekend. Anyways, I wait for Santana to show up, but she doesn't. I look at our text history, but she said that she would meet me out here at 9:30. I give her ten more minutes, but she still hasn't come out so I figured I'll walk in and meet her.

After the receptionist hands me my visitors badge, I thank him before walking back towards Santana’s desk. Normally, the bullpen she’s in isn't too terribly chaotic, nothing like the main bullpen you have to pass in order to get towards the back. However, today, it was an absolute madhouse. People were rushing everywhere, orders flying about, and I have to shove my way past several different people to get to Santana.

Luckily, she's not one of the people running around everywhere. She's sitting at her desk shouting in a mixture of mostly Spanish and some English across her desk to her partner, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but sitting in that chair at the moment.

“Santana! What the hell is going on?” I ask, interrupting her mid-curse. I assume it was a curse, my Spanish isn't very good but I figured what else could she be yelling at that moment in that tone? She looks at me, her eyes widening in realization and mutters another Spanish curse under her breath.

That one I recognized from the amount of times she muttered it in high school.

“I completely forgot we were going to meet up, Hummel. We just got last minute details from white collar, and everyone's shitting themselves trying to get everything organized,” she states. I look across at her partner, Jacob, and he nods at my glance before returning to whatever he was working on while Santana was yelling at him.

“Is this about-”

“What else would it be about, Hummel? Listen, I'll talk to you during my lunch break. I'll have to call you as I doubt I'll be able to leave until tonight,” she is handed a mountain of paperwork, and yells something after the woman who placed it on her desk.

“What do I look like, a damn secretary? I swear, I had no clue how much paperwork was involved in this job. I just figured I'd point a gun, shoot and go home,” she mutters, ignoring me and starting in on the papers.

“Alright, don't forget to call me, Santana,” she waves me off, but I stay standing until she looks up at me, her face morphing into the familiar bitch glare I'm used to from high school.

“I'm serious, Santana,” I glare back. She nods, and I take what I can get and leave before I'm run over by the numerous officers running around everywhere.

I head back to my dorm room, where Blaine looks up surprised from his bed. He pulls out a headphone, pressing a button on his laptop.

“Hey, I thought you were going to meet a friend?” He states.

“She's busy,” I tell him, sitting at my own desk and grabbing my homework. Might as well catch up on some of the work I've missed these past couple weeks. I work there in silence, trying to make myself ignore the steady presence of Blaine behind me. But it seems like I’m hyper aware of every move he makes.

Finally, blessedly, my phone rings and the caller ID shows it's Santana. I quickly answer it, walking out into the hallway so Blaine doesn't overhear our conversation.

“What's up?” I ask in lieu of a greeting. Santana sighs, and I hear her take a bite of something before speaking.

“Shits going down tonight,” she states.

“With the ring?” I ask, needing clarification even though I figured it was obviously it.

“Yeah,” she sighs, and I know she's exhausted because she doesn't even make some sort of sarcastic comment. “White collar got word from one of their informants that there was a big meeting between Abigail Farms and our art ring. Supposedly, The Painter is supposed to be there to make sure it all goes right.”

“Vincent is supposed to be there?” I say in shock. From what she's told me, it sounds like the three bosses almost never come out of hiding, using their goons to make deals in case things go wrong.

“Yeah, it shocked us too. So a whole bunch of us are going to stake out Farms’s place and try to apprehend Vincent,” she states.

“I'm coming with you,” I say.

“No way,” she immediately interjects.

“Santana, I can help. I-”

“Hummel, don't be more of an idiot than you already are. That building is going to be surrounded by police, and if they get word that you'll be there in full out Siren, they'll arrest you,” she interrupts. I sigh, resisting the urge to run a hand through my hair in frustration.

“Santana, I'll be fine. I can handle the police,” I tell her. “Besides, you can't exactly stop me,” I continue.

“Kurt, seriously, just let us deal with them,” Santana states.

“Okay. But I'm going to be there in case you need me,” she starts to protest, but I quickly cut her off. “I'll stay out of the way and only jump in if you need me, okay?” She sighs loudly, and a couple moments go by with neither of us saying anything.

“Okay, fine. But you stay out of sight unless things get uglier than normal,” she demands. I smirk, leaning against the wall behind me.

“Careful Satan, it's starting to sound like you care,” I tell her.

“I just don't want to have to drag your dead spandex covered ass out of there because you went and did something stupid,” she snaps, and I chuckle.

“Please, you wish you could carry this spandex covered ass anywhere,” I state. She laughs, and I smile as the tension and stress of tonight erases.

“Shut up, Hummel,” she says. I chuckle again, and she lets me know when the meeting was taking place before she had to go. I walk back in, and Blaine glances up as I do so.

“Everything okay?” He asks. I look over, a little shocked at the worried tone in his voice. I shoot him a grateful smile though.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I tell him. He nods, and we look at each other in silence for a couple moments. It looks like Blaine is about to say something, but whatever it was, he doesn't. He just turns back to his laptop and resumes whatever he was doing on it. I smile as I walk back to my desk, resuming my studying.

I head out that night with my costume on under my jeans and hoodie. Blaine was still in the room, for once he wasn't going to the library to study. He smiles at me as I walk by his desk to leave the room, and I couldn’t help the flutter in my stomach as I gave him a grateful smile back.

“See ya later,” I tell him. Blaine smiles wider at my simple statement, and I can't help but let that get to my heart a little.

“I'll be here,” he says. With one last little wave, I leave the room and head towards the warehouse building that Santana said was holding the meeting later.

I was an hour early than the meeting, which was taking place around midnight. I walk around the building, finding a good spot out of the way to observe. Santana might have said to leave it to the police, but I wasn't taking any chances that she or anyone else would get hurt.

An hour later, I see several black cars roll up outside. I shift in my spot, thinking that it's showtime.

When the group comes inside, I look down at them in confusion. Farms wasn't one of them, but none of them looked important enough to be Vincent either. In fact, they all looked like-

Crap. Shit. _Fuck_.

I sprint from my spot, just as I hear the crunch of gravel as police cars roll up, sirens blaring.

“NYPD, everybody put your hands up!” They scream, thundering their way into the warehouse.

“Stop! It's an ambush!” I yell, but my words are drowned out by the gunshots that open fire as soon as the police enter. I see cops fall to the ground, my eyes searching frantically for Santana, but I can't make out who is who in the full body armor they are all wearing.

I drop to the ground, hearing guns shooting left and right. As I do so, I let out my most ear shattering scream, trying to direct the brunt of the sound towards the guys shooting at the police. As I do so, everybody falls to the ground, including me.

Pain flares in my abdomen and chest, and it takes a couple seconds to recognize that I've been shot. By who, I don't know, but I look down to see blood darkening my suit red.

“Hummel! What the fuck?” Santana’s voice screams at me, and I feel as she grabs my arm and drags me out of the building. Both sides are still engaged in the shootout, my scream did next to nothing besides get me shot.

“Fuck, Kurt. We gotta get you to a hospital,” she says. Immediately my heart speeds up, and I grab her arm, making her look down at me.

“No hospitals,” I mumble, my breath coming out in gasps beyond my control. It hurts to breath, and I momentarily wonder why my chest feels like it's about to explode with every breath I take.

“Kurt you've been fucking shot, you need a hospital and I don't care what you say,” she glares as she drags me towards her squad car.

“Zebrowski, get the fuck out of the car,” Santana yells. She shoves me into the backseat, and my vision blurs from pain.

“Santana, I will compel you if I have to, no hospitals,” I demand. “Take me to Blaine,” I continue.

“Your roommate? Seriously Kurt you need a doctor,” Santana shouts. I wince as she drives away.

“Santana, promise me no hospitals,” my vision is getting more blurred as the pain increases. My chest hurts with every breath I take, and my stomach isn't much better. I don't hear what she responds, I'm just aware of the movement of the car as she speeds her way down the streets.

“Can you walk?” She asks, and I'm vaguely aware that we've stopped. She helps me out of the car, and I lean heavily on her. I look up and recognize that we aren't at the nearest hospital, but my dorm building. The night is dead, and nobody is walking in or out of the building.

“Side door,” I mutter, gasping in pain with each step I take. The shock from earlier is definitely wearing off. She mutters Spanish under her breath as we head towards the unlocked side entrance. An elevator ride later, she drags me down the empty hallways and follows my directions towards the my room. Santana pounds on the door, and seconds later I see Blaine open the door. Santana shoves her way past him, and I drop to the floor, crying.

“Fix him,” she demands. I can't hear his response, because at that moment the shock completely wears off and the pain increases tenfold.

Then I pass out.


	9. Questions Answered

I wake up slowly, my body feels heavy, and my throat dry. When I open my eyes it takes a couple moments for the white ceiling above me to dim down and not seem too white. I try to move, but inhale sharply at the pain in my ribs and stomach from just that tiny movement.

“Hey, you're awake,” I turn my head towards the sound, and see as Blaine quickly moves from his spot at his desk towards my bed. Oh yeah, I'm in my dorm room, that's right.

“How are you feeling?” Blaine asks, looking down at me with worried eyes. I smile, and even I'm aware that it was probably a pathetic attempt at a smile and more like a wince because I was actually in a lot of pain.

“I'm thirsty,” I state. Blaine nods, and walks back to his desk. He comes back carrying a glass of water and a bendy straw. I chuckle at the straw, but take greedy gulps from the glass as he holds it for me.

“Thank you,” I tell him when he pulls the glass away, even though I haven't drunk all of it.

“Don't want you getting sick,” he murmurs his reasoning behind taking away the water even though I didn't ask for it.

“You saved my life, Blaine. Thank you,” I tell him, and he stops in his tracks, his back still facing me. “What happened?” I continue, the memories of that night a little blurry after getting shot.

“You mean before or after your friend dropped you here half dead? Because I only know one of those answers,” Blaine sharply states. Despite the aggressive tone in his voice, I smile.

“After,” I say. Blaine sighs, and turns around. He sits in his chair at his desk and looks over at me. I try to sit up, but I quickly realize that probably isn't a smart idea by the pain and sharp look Blaine sends my way.

“I never realized how hard it is to remove bullet wounds when you have no fucking idea what the hell you are doing. Why didn't you go to the hospital, Kurt? Because let me tell you, removing a bullet lodged probably a centimeter away from your stomach was about the most nerve racking experience I've ever been through,” Blaine snaps, not yelling at me but pretty close to it. I glance at the door, knowing from experience theses dorm rooms don't have the thickest walls in the world.

“What about my ribs?” I ask, rubbing a hand lightly over where the pain in my chest is most painful. Blaine sighs, and probably saw my worried glance at the door because he lowers his volume but certainly not the angered tone.

“That was simpler. The bullet there cracked a rib and that's why it hurts,” he states. Blaine sighs, and I mirror it two seconds later.

“Go ahead. I know you probably have tons of questions,” I tell him. That seems to give him permission to finally explode. He jumps up from his chair, looking over at me with anger and hurt in his eyes. Which I didn't expect. I mean, I expected the anger but the hurt in those hazel eyes goes straight past the pain in my chest and now I feel terrible.

“You bet I do! I've had questions ever since I found you stitching yourself up that night. And you are going to give me the full truth, Kurt Hummel. No more telling me you can't tell me or that you will tell me later. The full truth and nothing but,” Blaine demands. And even though I know it is definitely not the right thing to be doing at the moment, I can't help but smile at the pissed off look on Blaine's face. Until I realize that me smiling is certainly not helping the situation and force it off my face.

“I promise, I'll answer everything you ask,” I tell him, fighting the urge to smile. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me right now?

“Okay, I guess we’ll start easy. So you're The Siren,” Blaine states. I nod even though it wasn't a question.

“Yeah. I am,” I tell him, watching as he falls back into his seat. And this time when I smile, he doesn't seem upset about it.

“And I thought we were starting off easy,” I joke. Blaine just shakes his head, and I watch him worriedly for a second before he speaks.

“It's just, different hearing you say it out loud and _really_ knowing it. That it's real and not just something I made up in my head and you had a much more logical reason,” he says, sounding dumbfounded at first. I bite back the sarcastic remark that seems oh so natural, _what's a more logical reason to why I was bleeding from two bullet wounds and wearing The Siren’s suit?_ Instead, I wisely shut up and wait for Blaine to continue onto his next question.

“Who’s the woman,” he trails off, but I know where he's going with his question.

“Who dropped my bloody body at the doorstep last night?” I chuckle at my own joke, but Blaine doesn't laugh so I just continue, “her name is Santana. And besides you, she is the only person who knows who I am,” I say.

“It's Tuesday morning, actually. You've been out a couple days. Another thing that worried me but the internet says that normal,” Blaine stops himself from rambling on, but I'm immediately confused.

“Wait, don't you have class Tuesday mornings? Why are you here?” I ask. Blaine finally laughs lightly, which makes the mood and strange tension between us lighten a bit.

“I thought it was obvious. My professors think I have the flu right now. I needed to keep an eye on you in case you got worse and I had to take you to the hospital. Which brings me to my next question, why didn't you go to a hospital?” He asks.

“Hospitals ask too many questions,” I immediately state, but the quick and standard answer doesn't seem like it's going to cut it with Blaine.

“So you thought you'd go to a sophomore pre-med student to save your life?” He asks, obviously taken aback.

“Well, I know you’re actually a junior pre-med student because of credits,” I say, watching as he rolls his eyes at the technicalities.

“Kurt, answer the damn question,” he demands, and I sigh, wishing I hadn't promised not to answer anything with an I'll tell you later. I look away from him for the first time since we started asking questions, and stare at a spot on the ceiling in silence.

“I don't trust hospitals anymore,” I finally breathe out, refusing to look over at Blaine. “Can we just leave it there for now?” I ask him, hating the way my voice cracked like a twelve year old and the lump now in my throat. And how Blaine doesn't say anything for several moments.

“Alright,” he finally says. And I wait a couple more minutes before finally moving my gaze from the spot on the wall and back over at Blaine, who looks at me with more emotion than I thought he'd have in his eyes.

“Next question?” I ask him. Blaine nods, his thoughts that were so obviously wandering returning to his mind.

“How'd you know I could even save you?” He asks next. I smile reassuringly at him before I answer.

“Because I trust you. I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing doctor. And I knew that you could do it, because you wouldn't stop until you did,” I tell him. He nods, and I looks up at me while smiling. I just keep looking at him, feeling like I'm getting lost in his eyes as he continues to sit there in his chair, smiling at me like I just gave him the gift of the world with my words.

“Is that side door always unlocked because that's actually a major security threat,” I jump in shock (and then wince at the pain that action causes) when the door opens and Santana walks in, dressed out in her uniform.

“Kurt, you’re awake!” She says, smiling as she looks over at me awake and laying in my bed. She turns back to Blaine, who doesn't seem surprised Santana is here.

“How is he?” She asks.

“Um, _he_ is fine. Just in a little pain,” I say, making her look over at me. She gives me a sickly sweet smile that looks completely out of place on her, and I barely have time to think _shit_ before-

“Good. Because that is the only thing keeping me from shoving my gun so far up your ass, your stomach comes out your mouth when I fire it. But I won't because I know you'd probably like it,” she shrugs, and I try to interject but she is nowhere near finished.

“What the hell were you thinking Kurt, dropping in the middle of a gun fight? You're lucky that you didn't get killed! What part of _stay out of the way_ don't you understand? I think all that hair product has seeped into your brain and made you stupid because that is the only reason I can think of that would make you put yourself in the middle of a gun fight,” she stops to take a breath, and I take the moment to finally get my own voice in, feeling way too much like a child being lectured right now.

“They were going to kill you guys, it was an ambush! I had to do something,” I defend myself. She just glares at me, and I make the smart decision to shut up.

“Then you could have gone all Sirened out from behind us, or up in the rafters where you were before you dropped to the ground in the _middle_ of the gunfight! You aren't bulletproof, Kurt! I don't know what you were thinking,” she states again.

“I was thinking that you guys were walking into an ambush and didn't want you getting hurt! Next time I'll just sit by and let you return to hell, Satan!” I yell at her, tired of her yelling and getting a little of my own in there. She recoils back, and we both glare at each other for several moments.

“Nice to know you care, Porcelain,” she grins, throwing in my old nickname from high school that she's adopted from Coach Sue.

“Of course I do, Santana,” I throw one last glare at her for good measure. “So what happened after I got shot?” I ask. Santana glances over where Blaine was standing shocked from our yelling match. I laugh at the look on his face, making sure to smile at him so he knows I'm not making fun of him.

“I think he can be trusted, Santana,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes, but takes a seat on Blaine bed anyways. Blaine opens his mouth, about to speak up, but I look at him and gently shake my head. He closes his mouth and leans back against his chair once more.

“After you went all Siren on the bad guys, we were able to get the upper hand pretty quickly. I drove you here, but I had to get back before my absence was noticed. We apprehended those we could catch, a couple got away and obviously people died, but the ones we caught don't know anything. It really was just a set up. The guy white collar got that tip from, he split town,” Santana explains. I sigh, looking up at the ceiling and wishing for a different outcome.

“So we’re no closer now than we were two weeks ago?” I ask.

“Yeah, we hit a dead end apparently,” she states. I sigh again, looking over at Santana.

“Well, go get out of it then. That way, when I can get out of bed, I can save the day and take all the credit,” I grin, watching Santana laugh. She stands up, walking the short distance to the door.

“I knew you were an attention whore, Hummel,” she laughs, shaking her head. I just laugh along with her and watch as she leaves. The door shuts, and Blaine looks over at me.

“She's...interesting,” he states. I laugh again, watching as Blaine slowly smiles.

“I guess interesting is a good word for it,” I state, my grin dissolving into a yawn. Blaine sees it and stands up, walking towards the bed and smiling down at me.

“Get some sleep, Kurt,” he says. I nod, closing my eyes exhausted even though I've been out for about two days. And as I fell asleep, I felt Blaine gently brush my hair off my forehead. I couldn't stop myself from smiling if I tried. 


	10. Sacrifices Are Part of the Job Description

It's official. I am bored. Capital B bored. B-O-R-E-D bored. There is nothing to do, I’m just laying in bed. Blaine is at a class, and he has forbidden me from getting up from my bed, except to go to the bathroom. My chest feels a little bit better, but it still hurts to breathe.

 

I look over at the clock, it reads 6:05, barely a minute has passed since the last time I looked at it.

 

Fuck this, I think to myself, wincing as I sit up. I hold a hand to my ribs in pain as I slowly get out of bed, walking towards my closet to get out of these sweatpants and tshirt I've been in for a couple days. I shove my clothes out of the way to reveal my suit. The one I normally wear was cut up and bloody from Blaine’s impromptu surgery a week ago, but I still have a backup.

 

I'm pulling the suit out of its spot when I hear the key click and the door opens as it unlocks. I look over at the door, my eyes widening in what is no doubt a deer in the headlights moment as Blaine walks in. He stops when he sees me, holding my Siren suit. The door shuts and he crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“What part of stay in bed do you not understand, Kurt?” He asks. I pull the suit farther out of the closet, trying to keep the wince off my face as I do aggravate my injuries.

 

“I need to get out there. It's been a week,” I say defensively. Blaine just looks at me sternly, but he doesn't move.

 

“Kurt, I'm serious. You are still healing,” he states. I ignore him and start to take off my shirt, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the whimper that wants to escape because of the burning pain in my chest.

 

“Kurt, stop,” this time Blaine walks over and takes the suit out of my hands. “Get back in that damn bed. I have to check your stitches and change your bandages anyways,” he gently pushes me towards the bed, but I don't fight him too much.

 

“Blaine, it’s been a week since I’ve been out there though. I need to find out what’s been going on. People need me,” I complain, letting Blaine push me back. I sit up against the pillows, watching as he remains unmoved by my protests.

 

“And people can wait for their superhero to get out there after you finish healing. You can’t honestly tell me you aren’t in pain right now, Kurt. I can see it on your face clear as day,” he states, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I sigh, wordlessly watching as he sits down on the bed next to me. He suddenly looks down at my shirt, redness creeping into his cheeks as he blushes.

 

“I, um, I need you to lift your shirt,” Blaine states awkwardly. He reaches up and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before looking at me once again. I smile slightly, reaching down and lifting my shirt up my stomach for him to check the bandages. Blaine looks down at my stomach, and I flinch as one of his cold hands lightly trace over the skin around my bandage.

 

“How often do you have to do this?” I ask, curious as to why Blaine looks so adorably flushed as he starts to remove the bandage covering my stitches.

 

“At first a couple times a day, and then every other day until you woke up yesterday. This is the first time you’ve been awake though,” Blaine answers, his attention now completely on my stitches as he gently touches them and the surrounding skin. Part of me wonders how much of this is just Blaine practically caressing my stomach. But before that thought can get too far, I make myself stop. Because yeah, I will admit that blush Blaine gets is cute. He also continuously pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, which slide right back down and he makes that adorable little annoyed noise at it. I can admit that. But despite all of that, Blaine deserves better. He deserves someone who can share their whole self with him, someone who’s not me.

 

Blaine replaces the bandage on my stomach with another one, looking up at me with that bashful look once more.

 

“Can you lift your shirt up a little more? I need to look at your chest next,” Blaine asks. I nod, not saying a word and lifting my shirt up to underneath my chin. Blaine inhales sharply, and I feel his thumb trace lightly over one of the numerous scars littering my torso.

 

“Kurt,” he breathes, and I immediately look away, the shame and hurt building up in my stomach until it feels like I’m about to throw up.

 

“Please don’t ask, Blaine,” I whisper, unwilling to look over at him. Blaine stays silent for several moments, and I finally manage to glance over at him. He’s staring wordlessly at my chest, his eyes glancing across it, taking in no doubt the many different jagged scars that lay randomly across my chest.

 

“Okay,” Blaine finally whispers back. He glances over at me, both of us just staring at each other as the heavy moment continues to loom in both of our minds. I know he wants to ask how I got all my scars, wants to know how many of them are from the people I fight. But I can’t tell him because once he knows he will look at me different. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the superhero. I’m the one with the powers, and yet, these scars are a constant reminder of how weak I really am. Because a strong person would be able to push Blaine away right now. A strong person would recognize that the right thing to do is to push Blaine away, to never let him close to their heart because it puts him in too much danger.

 

A strong person would have never let themselves start to fall in love with him.

 

“Okay, I’m done,” Blaine suddenly states. I jump a little bit, not having been aware of the fact that Blaine continued to check the stitches on my chest, that he had replaced that bandage as well and was waiting for me to pull my shirt back down. I quickly do just that, expecting Blaine to get up off my bed and return to his side of the room. But instead he stays right where he is, looking down at me with his eyes obviously brimming with unspoken words. The unspoken words we both know and yet are too scared to say.

 

And honestly, fuck my life right now. If I wasn’t the Siren, I would be jumping at the opportunity to have Blaine in my life. But instead of doing what would be so easy, Blaine was already leaning down, it wouldn’t take much for me to pull him towards me and kiss him, I force myself to look away.

 

“Thank you, Blaine,” I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling or cracking, trying to keep it from saying everything I’m not. I make myself look away, not turning to see Blaine get up from my bed.

 

“You’re welcome, Kurt,” Blaine states, his voice emotionless which honestly hurts me more than the bullets did. I turn back towards the TV, trying to look like I was watching whatever mindless show was on. I continue to look blankly at the screen, even as I hear the door opening and closing. Once the door closes with a sharp click, do I finally let myself release a breath and start to cry for the sacrifices I have to make for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I updated. Finally. I apologize for the sporadic updates, and fair warning, they will probably get even more sporadic coming up here soon. I'm about to head off for my first year of college here in a couple weeks, and I'm playing soccer for my college so I'll be crazy busy. But I promise, this will not be abandoned. It may take for fucking ever, but it will get finished. This, and How The Deaf Boy Fell in Love. I know it's been forever since I updated that one, but I'm actually working on the next chapter of that now and it should be posted here within the next couple days. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for sticking with me.


	11. We're Trapped in a Room With Brick Walls Everywhere

As the days bled into weeks, I healed. Blaine kept a close watch on my process, but eventually (finally) he gave me permission to put my suit back on and go out into the streets again. I quickly realize that I have no idea what is going on with the art ring, with everything that’s been going on since I’ve been injured. However, I didn’t get a chance to head down and talk to Santana, her once daily visits ceased as soon as she realized that I wasn’t joking about her getting out there and figuring out what the hell is going on with the ring.

 

Damn, I really need a better named for this ring. I should give it a code word or something. Wait, _crap_. If I’m debating giving it a code name, that means I’ve been spending too much time watching bad spy movies. This is what happens when you have been ordered to bed rest, you get so bored you watch crappy spy movies on Netflix.

 

Anyways, I also had to deal with the mountain of schoolwork that piled up on me since I’ve been out of commission. Luckily for me, Blaine managed to talk to my professors and convince them I’ve been bedridden with a terrible case of the flu, even though it’s nowhere near flu season. How he managed it, I have no idea, but I’ve never been more thankful for it than now. Because I have three essays, multiple readings, and a project to begin that’s all late. I’m scared to look at my grades right now, I honestly am.

 

So, it takes me a good week until I can finally dig my way out of my textbooks and head down to the police station to catch up with Santana.

 

I walk into the precinct, the place still as busy as ever. I repeat the process of handing my ID to the secretary at the desk, accepting the visitor’s badge she hands me and walk the familiar path back towards Santana.

 

She’s not sitting at her desk, and was nowhere in sight as I walk up. Instead, her partner Jacob is sitting at his desk opposite of Santana’s. He looks up when he sees me, looking shocked for a moment.

 

“Kurt? Hey man, haven’t seen you for a little while. Everything going good?” He asks, sounding way too suspicious for my liking. I briefly think back, trying to figure out what I did that’s making him sound like that.

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why?” I ask, carefully withdrawn in the face of Jacob’s curiosity.

 

“No reason, like I said, just haven’t seen you in about a month,” he states, looking back down at his desk. I nod slowly, trying to shake off the weird feeling I have about that last conversation.

 

“Do you know where Santana is?” I ask. Jacob looks up again at me, nodding his head.

 

“Yeah, she’s in a quick meeting with our boss, been in there for a while actually. I don’t know when she’s going to get out. Do you want to wait, or I can tell her you stopped by?” He explains. _Huh, I wonder why she’s talking to her boss. Did something happen? Crap, does he know she knows that I’m the Siren? Fuck, what’s going on?_ I get increasingly more worried for Santana the more I stand there, to the point where I completely forget about Jacob’s question.

 

“Kurt? Did you hear me?” Jacob asks. I look back over at him, realizing I was staring into space as I started my freak out. On the one hand, I would like to stay and talk to Santana about what’s going on. On the other hand, in my freaked out mind, right now Santana is getting grilled about the identity of the Siren, and I can just imagine a bunch of armed cops coming out and pointing their guns at me, demanding I stay still while they arrest me. Santana sits in a pair of matching handcuffs in my mind, and I’m probably taken away to some far off Area 51 lab where they experiment on me and take out my vocal cords.

 

“Um, I’ll just wait here,” I finally say, taking a seat in Santana’s chair. Wow, this thing is not comfortable in the slightest, how does she work in this thing? I mean, mine at Vogue.com is way more comfortable, and I don’t even have that much of a high stress job like a police officer does.

 

As I wait there, I try to ignore the looks from Jacob. He continuously glances up at me out of the corner of my eyes, making me fidget more than normal under his scrutiny. After all, I’m pretty sure that during my last visit he didn’t look at me like that, like he’s trying to figure something out about myself.

 

“So, I’m just curious, why do you visit Santana so much?” Jacob finally asks in the silence. I glance over at him, confused.

 

“We’re old friends. We knew each other in high school,” I explain, trying to use my usual vague answers that normally get people off my back. But I should have known that using those kind of answers wouldn’t work here. Because, in case I’ve forgotten, I’m surrounded by police officers. And while, apparently Jacob is terrified of Santana, he’s not afraid of me.

 

“Yeah, but you’re constantly here, and the two of you always leave for at least an hour. I guess I just wonder what you two always talk about,” Jacob says, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms as he looks at me.

 

“We just talk. I don’t know what else to tell you,” I say, trying not to get angry at the sudden interrogation. And I’m already on edge because Santana still hasn’t come back. _Santana, please don’t be too much longer, I’d like to get out of this place about five minutes ago,_ I plead to myself.

 

“But you guys talked like every single week. At least, until this past month,” he continues, and I’m getting angrier by the minute. I didn’t come here to get interrogated, which is exactly what’s happening right now.

 

“Look, Jacob. I don’t know why you’re suddenly all bent out of shape about this, but if you have something to say to me, say it. If not, please leave me alone right now,” I snap, glaring at him. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, but whatever his retort was going to be is interrupted by the arrival of Santana. Who, thankfully, was not in handcuffs or accompanied by an army of police officers.

 

“Porcelain, what are you doing here?” She asks, and Jacob immediately deflates. His eyes return to his desk, and I’m momentarily curious about why he’s so afraid of Santana. I mean, yeah, she can be a raging bitch, but she’s a good person inside. Deep inside. Like, real deep.

 

“It’s been a while, figured we could catch up if you have a minute,” I say, trying to ask her what’s going on without using those words. She nods, glancing over at Jacob quickly before grabbing her jacket.

 

“Let’s go,” she starts walking, and I quickly follow as we head to our normal spot across the street at Starbucks. We sit in a booth out of the way and in the corner, facing the entire room. Santana keeps looking around, worrying me about how on edge she seems.

 

“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask, unable to take another moment not knowing what’s happening. She sighs, and I notice her leg bouncing up and down as she looks at me.

 

“We caught someone a couple days ago. He’s in lockup right now,” she finally states. I look at her, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

 

“Someone important?” I ask, prodding her to continue. She sighs again, nodding.

 

“Yeah. Not boss important, but someone who knows a lot more than any of the guys we’ve caught so far,” at my look of surprise, she finally lets out a small smile. “You’ve missed a lot getting your beauty rest,” she continues. I roll my eyes, ignoring the dig that was normal Santana snark.

 

“Have you guys gotten anything out of him yet?” I ask. Santana shakes her head, her leg finally stops bouncing but she starts playing with her nails.

 

“No, and I don’t think we will. What know about him, he might know more about the dealings of everything, but I don’t think he knows the actual identities of the three bosses. Or even one of them. And he definitely doesn’t know anything about the big boss,” she says. I let out a deep sigh, annoyed at yet another dead end.

 

“Is that it?” I ask, a little sharply betraying my anger at the news. Santana shakes her head, looking around me once again at the rest of the room.

 

“No. Do you remember anything about the night you got shot?” She changes the subject so abruptly, it takes a little bit until her question sinks in.

 

“Not really. I really just remember getting shot and telling you to take me to Blaine. Not much else,” I admit. Santana nods, not looking very shocked at my answer. I was pretty out of it that night, that much I do remember.

 

“Yeah, I figured that. Well, I will tell you, my partner Zebrowski knows that I know The Siren,” she quickly says. I collapse back against my chair, shock causing my brain to stop working for several moments.

 

“How?” I manage to ask, the shock starting to morph into fear of discovery.

 

“When you were shot, I dragged you to my squad car. But Jacob was in there, I can’t remember why he didn’t come in with us, but he and a couple other guys were waiting with the cars. Anyways, I practically held my gun to his head getting him out of the car so I could drag you to Blaine,” she explains, watching me carefully. Something in my face must have revealed my fear, because she quickly continues. “He doesn’t know that it was you though.”

 

“But he suspects.” I quickly retort. She stays silent, so I keep going. “You were in your meeting, and he was pretty much interrogating me about why we keep meeting. And why I was gone for the last month.”

 

“He’s not smart enough to figure it out though,” she says, her regular sarcastic tone trying to make a comeback. However, I can hear the waver in her confidence enough to where I’m a little fearful.

 

“He didn’t talk to your boss, right?” I ask. She quickly shakes her head.

 

“No. After I heard you were going to be fine, he came right up and asked how I knew you, I mean, The Siren. I did everything short of pulling out my gun to keep him quiet. Charlie recently put me with white collar and I’m now on this case full time. He was just asking how it was going with a couple other guys from white collar. This is getting to be a high profile case,” she states.

 

“Still. We’re going to have to be more careful around your partner,” I deduce. Santana nods.

 

“Yeah, I agree. Better safe than sorry,” she agrees. We both get up from our booth, walking out of the coffee shop together, and I watch her walk back across the street to the precinct.

 

As I head back to my dorm room, I think about what Santana said about the guy they caught. We keep thinking that the guys we catch have some information we can use, but pretty much all of them have no idea who they are working for. An added worry, nobody has any clue how long this ring is going to stay in New York. At any moment, their last heist could be their last one, and we’d be forced to watch them pack up and move on, not knowing they left New York until their next city. All these dead ends, and the best piece of information we’ve gotten is what is probably a fake name anyways. The same question keeps bouncing in my head with each step.

 

How in the hell are we supposed to stop these guys? 

 


	12. Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Quick warning for brief mentions of the events in Chapter One, so mentions of attempted rape. It's not much, but I figured I'd put it down just in case anybody gets triggered by it. 
> 
> On with the chapter!

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Blaine suddenly asks, disturbing the comfortable silence in the dorm room. Both of us were at our desks, I had one earbud in my ear playing music while I was going over an essay due the next day. He was at his work space, textbooks and papers strewn around like always. I grab my phone and pause my music, taking out my earbud and turning to him.

 

“Go ahead,” I tell him. Blaine puts his pencil down, and spins his chair so that he’s facing me.

 

“It’s about, you know,” Blaine trails off, looking around awkwardly in the face of this conversation.

 

“About?” I gently prod, watching Blaine’s eyes dart around the room, finally landing on me.

 

“I was just curious about how you got your powers,” he finally says after several moments.

 

“Oh,” his question shocks me into silence for several moments, and I don’t realize why at first. And then I think I understand. Besides the initial conversation we had, which was mostly Blaine yelling at me and being angry at the fact that I kept it a secret from him, we haven’t really talked much about the fact that I’m The Siren. We’ve skated around the topic. He now knows where I go late at night so I don’t have to come up with stupid excuses, and Blaine is back to always being in the room at night instead of the library.

 

“You don’t have to answer it, if you don’t want to,” Blaine continues, probably taking my silence for reluctance.

 

“No, I don’t mind,” I quickly state, “I just, it’s a little surprising you want to know, I guess.”

 

“Like I said, I’m just curious,” he says. I nod, leaning back against my chair and crossing my arms over my chest, looking over at him. He continues to sit on his side of the room, looking over at me curiously.

 

“I honestly don’t even know how I got them,” I start, watching as Blaine leans forwards slightly when I start talking. “They just, appeared one day,” I continue.

 

“Like out of the blue? Nothing happened or anything?” Blaine asks.

 

“Well, I wasn’t dunked in radioactive waste or anything,” I joke, bringing a smile to Blaine’s face.

 

“But did anything happen or something that made them manifest?” he asks. I sigh deeply, tearing my gaze away from his to look at the ground. My mind flashes back to what happened the day my powers manifested. Getting locked in that locker room with David Karofsky, that feeling of absolute terror I had when I felt his hand grab me. And the utter hopelessness that went through me when the fear made me freeze up.

 

“Are you okay, Kurt?” Blaine asks gently, snapping me out of my thoughts. I jump a little bit as I return to myself, looking again at him before quickly darting my gaze away, unable to look at the worry in his eyes.

 

“I’m good, sorry,” I tell him, crossing my arms tighter and closer to get rid of the unnatural chill that always goes down my spine everytime I think of what could have happened.

 

“Something did happen, didn’t it?” Blaine implores, and I look up when I hear him move his chair closer to me, the squeaking of the wheels seemed so loud at that moment.

 

“In high school, I got bullied a lot. You told me you went to a private school, right?” I ask, watching as Blaine nods.

 

“Yeah, Dalton. It wasn’t bad there because they had a zero-bullying rule that people actually followed,” he confirms.

 

“Yeah, well, McKinley had nothing like that. It was… bad. Not just for me, the other kids in glee club got picked on too, but I definitely had it the worst.”

 

“Because you were gay?” Blaine interjects. I nod.

 

“Yeah. And there was this one boy, he was on the football team, pretty much all of the football team hated us. Anyways, this guy made me miserable,” I stop for a moment, making myself look over at Blaine. And wow, when did he get that close? Those eyes, full of worry, even though he didn’t know me at all then, felt inches away from me. Though he was still sitting in his chair, those eyes seemed to get closer and closer, bright and full of concern.

 

“And?” Blaine asks in my silence. I sigh deeply again, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat.

 

“The day that my powers appeared, we got locked in the locker room together. Um, I don’t really remember why, I think it started out as a joke,” I chuckle humorlessly. I look back over at Blaine, who’s doing what he always does, being an open book. He already looks so angry, so hurt about what I’m saying. What’s he going to say when I tell him that wasn’t even the worst of it?

 

“Anyways, we were alone, David and I. And-” _he kissed me and tried to rape me._ The words catch in my throat, unable to come out.

 

“And he,” I stop again. Why can’t I get these words out? Why can’t I tell Blaine the story?

 

“And?” Blaine asks worriedly. My throat tightens around the words, around the story and my stomach clenches. I look away, terrified he will see the truth in my eyes.

 

“He started beating the crap out of me,” is what comes out of my mouth. By Blaine’s sharp inhale, I assume he believes the lie. So I just go with it, not wanting to tell Blaine about what really happened that day. After all, I’ve gone this long without telling the truth, what’s another lie?

 

“He was punching me and kicking me, and I was screaming at him to stop,” I go on, avoiding Blaine gaze, too scared he will be able to see I’m lying and ask me to tell him the real story.

 

“He kept going, and at some point my screams of stop, just turned into my screams. And then my powers kicked in and my scream knocked him flat on his ass. He had blood coming out both his ears and his nose, and I just remember him looking at me with this look in his eyes,” this part isn’t a lie, but I still can’t bring myself to continue, or to look at Blaine.

 

“What look?” Blaine finally asks after moments of silence. I make myself turn away from him, but for some reason, it seems like he’s calling out for me. So I finally turn to look at him again, his eyes were still filled with pain and worry, unknowing to the fact of my lie.

 

“Terror. He was so scared, I was scared. I just remember pushing myself away and he scooted back on the floor, terrified of me. Of what I could do. I ran away as fast as I could, but I haven’t ever been able to forget the fear in his eyes after what I did,” I admit. Blaine takes a deep breath, both of us just sitting there looking at each other for several long moments. And then Blaine is moving so suddenly it surprises me. He moves up and off his chair and sits on the bed next to me, pulling me into a hug. And I just melt into it, letting the warmth of his embrace surround me.

 

“It’s okay, Kurt. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Blaine whispers, he keeps whispering to me things like _it’s okay_ and _he deserved it._

 

“I was so scared,” I keep talking, my brain doesn’t know when to stop and the words just keep coming. “I had no idea how to control it. I couldn't sing in glee club anymore, because then I’d just enchant the entire room. I was afraid to speak for a while, terrified of the power that I had over somebody.” Blaine pulls away, and I nearly whimper because of the loss of his arms around me. But he places his hands on my arms instead, making me look over at him sitting there.

 

“But you control them now. You control them and you do amazing things with them, things that some people could only dream of doing. You’re _saving_ _lives_ , Kurt. You’re helping people and you’re inspiring them to be better,” he says. I sit there, looking up at him, and I don’t even know that my eyes are watering up until I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

 

"I'm afraid to let them all down," I admit, looking away from his gaze, those hazel eyes that seem to pull my deepest fears to the surface.

 

“Hey, you’re allowed to be afraid, Kurt.” Blaine reaches up and gently wipes the lone tear off with his thumb, cupping my cheek with one of his hands and gently forcing me to look at him again. “Just because you’re a hero, doesn’t mean you don’t feel fear.” He then wraps an arm around me, and I lean my head against his shoulder. His fingers play idly with my arm, running up and down in an almost tickling sensation.

 

“Thank you,” I whisper. Blaine says nothing, just holds me closer to his body, and I close my eyes as I rest there. We don’t say anything more, both of us just sit there in the silence. Blaine continues to hold me, even when the tears stop. He holds me closer than I thought was possible, and I realize that I never want him to let me go.

 

He’s suddenly moving, and I reach up and grip his arm tightly, not wanting him to leave just yet.

 

“Can we just stay here? At least for a little bit longer?” I whisper, glancing up at him. Blaine looks down, letting out a soft smile. He pulls me with him when he starts laying down, and in this position he can wrap his arms around me tighter. I lay my head on his chest, closing my eyes when I hear the calming and steady thumping of his heart.

 

I almost miss it when he speaks up. “As long as you want.” 

 


	13. Saving Him

Before becoming The Siren, I never counted myself as much of an athlete. Sure, I danced and did cheerleading briefly in high school, but I always managed to maintain my physique by eating healthy. However, ever since becoming The Siren, I’ve started running a lot more, doing a lot more physical exercise. Jumping across buildings and running across town to respond to various calls has made me much more in shape and athletic than I honestly ever thought I’d get.

 

But I don’t think I’ve ever sprinted as fast as I did when I heard his call.

 

It was probably about midnight, I had only been out at night for about an hour. It was pretty quiet, but I did help save a woman from getting mugged. Nothing big, nothing like an art theft. I thought that they had maybe taken the night off, which I definitely wasn’t complaining about.

 

And then my phone rang, and I looked down at it confused. My utility belt was a necessary evil, after all, I hadn’t sewn any pockets in my suit. So, I brought along the belt to hold the necessities, including my cell phone. However, it was midnight on a Thursday night, none of my friends (besides Blaine) would have been up. And when I grabbed it, Blaine’s contact shown out. 

 

“Hello? Blaine?” I ask, moving into a space between two buildings so that I wouldn’t be seen. Blaine doesn’t respond, but I hear him breathing heavily. I’m about to hang up, thinking he butt dialled me or something, when I hear him start talking. 

 

“What do you want with me?” Blaine asks, the terror in his voice making my heart stop. I hold the phone up to my ear with a crushing grip, straining to hear the response. 

 

“You were so eager that night, why so timid now?” Comes the leering answer. I hear the voice get closer to Blaine’s phone, and I silently beg him to give me some type of clue as to where he is.

 

“Brandon, I was drunk. It was a mistake, I’m sorry. Please, leave me alone,” Blaine continues to plead, and then I hear a loud thud, and the voices sound much farther away. My stomach drops in fear as I can do nothing but listen, not knowing where Blaine would be. He rarely leaves the dorm room at night anymore. He told me he would always be in the room, just in case I needed him again like the night I got shot. Is he still in the dorms? Or is he somewhere completely different. NYU is such a big campus, I have no clue where to start searching for him.

 

“You were such a little slut that night though, are you sure it was a mistake?” I hear Blaine let out a sharp whimper, and I start sprinting my way towards campus. I’ll tear apart every building in my search if I have to. 

 

“Brandon, let go of me,” Blaine cries out, and I try to quicken my sprint, at least thankful that I wasn’t on the other side of town and was only a couple blocks from campus.

 

“Do you know how long I had to wait until you were alone? You’re always with your damn roommate, or your study group. You don’t study here anymore, why is that? You used to study here all the time?” The guy, Brandon, asks in a mocking tone. I nearly cry out with triumph at that. That was the clue I needed. I know where Blaine is now.

 

Campus looms ahead of me, and I tear down the paths, not caring that I’m still in my Siren suit, that anybody could see me. The phone is still held to my ear, and I’m panting heavily from running as I see the darkened library building getting closer.

 

All I hear in my ear are Blaine’s cries of fear, and my mind is thinking of all the worst possible scenarios that could be happening to him right now. I reach the door, finally, and pull it open only to find it locked. Without a second thought, I scream, shattering the glass doors and several windows nearby as I jump through the opening. 

 

I follow the sounds of Blaine struggling, running through stacks of books until I find him. He’s being pinned to the wall by his neck, hard enough to bruise but not hard enough to completely cut off his oxygen. I know this because he’s still fighting, throwing punches that do nothing to the guy pinning him down. But I can see the fight leaving his body, the guy holding him laughing in triumph as he pushes closer to Blaine. My vision goes red, my mind goes blank as I start screaming, trying to direct all my anger into this guy’s head.

 

He drops to the ground immediately, and I’m too pissed off to see Blaine falling too, gasping. My scream rises in pitch, shattering the glass lightbulbs in the ceiling above, making glass rain down around the three of us. Brandon is laying on the ground, crying in pain as I focus my scream to his brain. I momentarily wonder if I’m capable of killing this guy with my voice. I don’t think I would be too upset if I did.

 

“Kurt,” I shouldn’t have been able to hear him above the pounding of blood in my ear, but I did. Blaine’s voice broke through the anger induced haze that I’m in, and my breath leaves me at once as I rush towards him.

 

“Blaine,” I cry, grabbing him and pulling him into my body. His arms wrap immediately around me, and I hold him as tight as I can, tighter after hearing his cries begin. I look over at Brandon, who’s laying on the ground unconscious. His ears have a steady trickle of blood slowly falling out of both ear canals, and I can’t find it in me to be sorry about the force I used on him.

 

“Are you okay?” I ask, pulling away from Blaine’s tight grip to look down at him. His eyes are red from crying, and his throat already sports black and blue bruises from the grip of Brandon’s fingers. I continued to look down at him, his knuckles were bloody and bruised, and his clothes were completely out of place. Several buttons were roughly opened at the neck of his polo, and there were several tears in his undershirt.

 

“I’m fine, you saved me,” Blaine breaths, throwing himself back at me. He’s shaking, from fear or relief or maybe a combination of both I don’t know. I just hold him as tightly as I can, running my hands up and down his back. I’m shaking myself, both of us continue to hold one another tightly.

 

“What happened?” I ask, pulling away once again. Blaine glances over at the unconscious body of Brandon before looking back at me.

 

“Um, I needed a book for a topic I’m studying, so I came here really quick. The librarian let me have a key, because I’m in here so much. He just, showed up. I don’t know how, I must have forgotten to lock the door behind me. And he’s drunk,” Blaine explains, the adrenaline leaving his body and making him stammer. I look over at Brandon again, then back at Blaine.

 

I reach over and gently cup his cheek, running my thumb over another bruise slowly revealing itself on his jaw.

 

“I tried to fight back, but he was so much stronger. He’s on the wrestling team,” Blaine continues, and I pull him back towards me before he can keep going, and Blaine shutters in my embrace.

 

“I wish I gotten here sooner,” I whisper into his hair. Blaine shakes his head, his face buried in my neck.

 

“It’s my fault he was here in the first place,” Blaine says, his voice muffled as he doesn’t move from his place in my neck.

 

“Don’t. Don’t blame yourself. He’s the one who attacked you,” I quickly state. Blaine sighs, finally moving from his place in my neck. He’s stopped shaking, and right now just looks exhausted. 

 

“I know,” he says, looking away. I reach out and grab his hand, making him look over at me.

 

“He’s never going to bother you again, Blaine,” I say firmly. Blaine looks over at Brandon’s body, who still lays there surrounded by broken glass.

 

“You don’t know that, Kurt. He’s admitted he’s been stalking me, what’s to stop him from doing more?” He hesitantly says, and I sigh.

 

The silence is broken by a groan of pain, and I quickly turn to Blaine, but he doesn’t seem to be the cause of it. Looking over at Brandon, he seems like he’s starting to wake up. No doubt with a killer headache. Oh well. 

 

Wait. Killer headache. My mind goes back to the night I was with Santana, and we had gone undercover into Abigail Farms’s party. Where I discovered a new ability. But it was entirely by accident, I don’t know if I can do it again.

 

“Blaine, do you trust me?” I ask, and Blaine looks over at me in shock at my question. 

 

“Of course I do, Kurt,” he quickly states, his voice full of reassurance that I can’t help but smile slightly over at him. I let go of Blaine’s hand (which I honestly hadn’t been aware that I still held it) and stood up, seeing Blaine watch me out of the corner of my eye.

 

“I don’t know if this will even work. But, last time I tried this, I enchanted somebody so much that I had control of their entire mind. I made her forget meeting me and the questions I asked, and implanted false memories,” I explain as I walk over to Brandon, who’s still groaning softly with pain as he hangs in that moment of wakefulness and unconsciousness.

 

“You can do that? Make him forget?” Blaine asks. I nod, not looking over at him. 

 

“Yeah. I can,” I whisper, stopping when I stand over Brandon’s body. He’s still laying on his back, his eyes closed. The blood coming out of his ears has stopped and dried, painting his blonde hair crusty and red to his skull. Looking at him, I again feel the overwhelming anger, and I close my eyes while taking a deep breath. 

 

I glance over at Blaine, who’s sitting in the same spot I left him in. He gives me a small smile, nodding his head slightly. Like this gave me permission, I turn back to the body of Brandon and start to sing.

 

“ _ Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise,”  _ Brandon’s eyes shoot open, staring up at me without seeing, his eyes clouding over more and more with each word that I sing. I continue until I reach the end of the song, his mind opening more and more to me until finally, I have complete control.

 

The force of the resulting headache causes me to drop to my knees, wincing as I hold my head to my hands. Crap, I completely forgot how painful this was. But I don’t even have to look over at Blaine to know that this is worth it. So even though I hear Blaine cry out in alarm, I continue looking over at Brandon, who’s unseeing eyes followed me to the ground.

 

“Forget him,” I say, my voice ringing out and echoing in the empty library. “Forget Blaine, you don’t know him. You woke up in the library, you smashed all the windows, the lightbulbs on the ceiling. You were drunk after all,” I push the thought into his mind, feeling his memories of Blaine slowly disappear and replaced by the thoughts that I implanted. Only when I was sure that he wouldn’t remember anything, do I let my mind pull away from his.

 

My headache increases tenfold when I’m finished, and I watch as Brandon’s eyes close and he returns to peacefully sleeping. I jump when hands are placed on my back, remembering that Blaine was watching the entire time.

 

“Kurt, are you okay?” He asks. I nod, wincing as the motion acts like a jackhammer pounding it’s way through my skull. 

 

“Yeah. I just get a terrible headache whenever I do that,” I explain. Blaine doesn’t say anything, but he does grab my arms and pulls me up off the ground.

 

“Come on, we should leave,” he says. We walk out of the library, silent except for Blaine’s gasp when he sees the door that I broke.

 

“Sorry,” I painfully whisper. He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything else as we head up to the dorm room. Once there, I gratefully sit on my bed, watching Blaine turn off the harsh fluorescent light and turn on the softer desk lamps.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright,” Blaine asks softly. I smile reassuringly, even as I fight the wince that wants to become my permanent facial feature. 

 

“Yeah. It’ll just feel like I have the worse hangover tomorrow, but I’ll be fine. It was worth it,” I tell him. Blaine looks down and away from me, sitting on his bed across the room.

 

“What about you? Are you alright?” I ask. Blaine continues to avoid my gaze, and I watch him worriedly. 

 

“If you hadn’t gotten there, I don’t know what would have happened. You saved me, Kurt,” he quietly says. He continues to avoid my gaze, and I really wish he would look over here and instead of the ugly carpet on the floor.

 

“I’ll always save you,” I promise. Blaine finally looks up, his eyes widening at my words.

 

“You save everybody. Why? What made you decide to save people? Some of us probably aren’t even worth it,” he asks suddenly. I’m a little surprised at the change in topic, but I answer him.

 

“Because I get the chance to save people from the demons in the world, even from their own inner demons sometimes,” I explain, probably not making any sense to him. But Blaine knows me, he knows what I’m saying, and he understands. 

 

“But what about your demons? Who saves you from yours?” He asks. I inhale sharply, looking away from Blaine as I struggle to figure out a way to explain this. 

 

“I guess it’s hard to fight something that always changes its face. My demon is in every person I fight, he’s constantly changing,” I look over at Blaine again, “it’s been so long, I don’t really remember what it’s like not fighting him.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. I shrug, and he continues. “I’m sure you’ll win eventually.”

 

“I really hope so,” I say softly. I sigh, looking over at the digital clock on my desk. 

 

“We should get to sleep,” I break the silence. Blaine reaches over and turns off the desk lamp closest to him, and I’m reaching up to turn mine off when he speaks up.

 

“Hey, Kurt. Can I? I mean, after what’s happened, I was wondering if...” he trails off hesitantly. But I hear him get up off his bed and watch him walk over to my bed in the dim light.

 

“It would only be for a little while,” he whispers, and I’m already scooting over in the tiny bed to make room for him. He smiles thankfully as I open my arms, and lays down next to me. This time, I’m the one holding him as he lays his head on my chest. I turn off the light, casting the room into darkness before tightening my arms around Blaine. He sighs deeply, already relaxing in my arms. 

 

“It’ll just be for a little while, I promise,” Blaine whispers. And I’m aware that I’m only echoing him and what he told me only a couple days ago when I whisper back.

 

“As long as you want.” 

  
  



	14. Finally

I am pissed off. I am _so_ pissed right now. I'd go as far to say I'm _fucking livid_. It's been three months. Three full months since the first museum theft and the police and I are nowhere close to catching the real bosses of this thing. None of my regular contacts know anything useful, and Santana repeatedly tells me that they are getting nowhere as well. So, the three months since this ring came to New York, we have gotten nowhere.

 

So yeah, I'm a little upset right now.

 

Sleep deprivation isn't helping me too. I don't think I remember a night that I haven't gotten back to my dorm room before 4:30, then had to get up for a 9:00 a.m. class. I think that my alarm clock is close to shattering from the amount of times I've hit snooze on that thing.

 

Blaine tries his best to help out as much as possible, but he's under so much stress for his midterms that he can't do much more than research the ring online, which isn't pulling up anything new. Just the same old regular bullshit I keep getting from the streets the police are finding.

 

But then the miracle happened.

 

I was just getting out of my latest lecture, thinking and dreading the shitload of homework I had to do that night, when I get a call.

 

"Hello?" I say, answering my phone without even looking.

 

"Hey, Lady Lips. I got a job for you," Santana's voice is barely recognizable outside of the loud chatter she was currently in.

 

"Santana? What? I can't hear you," I tell her. I can't hear what she says next, but if I didn't know any better it sounded like an actual apology, and then she leaves the loud area and I can suddenly hear her again.

 

"I got a job for you," she says, and this time I can clearly hear her.

 

"What kind of job?" I ask.

 

"I need to you walk my puppies-what kind of job do you think I'm talking about, Hummel?" She snaps sarcastically. I roll my eyes, unshaken by her sarcasm.

 

"What do you need, Santana?" I ask dryly.

 

"You remember that guy that we caught a couple weeks ago? The one that had more information but we couldn't get anything out of him?" She asks.

 

"But didn't you say that he doesn't have any information on the identities of the bosses?" I ask her.

 

"You're right. But we believe he's pretty closely connected to Mr. Banks, you remember him, right?" I nod in answer to her question even though I know that she can't see me.

 

"Yeah, I know. He's the money man. What does this have to do with what you want me to do?" I ask. Santana is quiet for a few seconds, worrying me.

 

"He's going to be at the station for a follow up interview. I was thinking that if you compelled him to tell us what he knew, it would be so much easier," she says.

 

"Yeah, but in order to do that, I have to sneak into the police station, fully Sirened out," I trail off, Santana doesn't speak up, and I immediately understand she's asking me to do this, to sneak into the police office and compel this guy to spill. And, oh, yeah, willingly surround myself with people who want to throw me in jail. Or worse, place me in some Area 51-like army base where they house all the other freaks with powers like me.

 

"Santana, are you serious? Have you forgotten that I'm like, number one on the list of guys you want to arrest?" I incredulously ask her.

 

"You're not number one. You're like, number six, tops."

 

"Santana-"

 

"Listen, Kurt. We are getting nowhere with this case, alright?" Santana snaps, "and this guy has information we can use, okay. And yeah, I know it's dangerous for you, but a lot of officers aren't going to be there and you can just compel the few officers that are there. It'll be no problem for you," she continues.

 

I stand there in silence for several moments, watching as the students around me continue walking along the campus, oblivious to the dilemma I'm having. Because, yeah, I'd love to finally get somewhere on this ring. And from what it sounds like, Santana and the rest of the police think that this guy they have has some information that would be helpful to them. But, on the other hand, if I get caught, I'll be in huge trouble. Not only will my identity be compromised, but Santana, Blaine, Rachel, everybody that knows me as Kurt Hummel could be in danger too. Even if they didn't know that I'm the Siren, they might get in trouble just for knowing me. And that's not even starting on what could happen to me if I'm caught.

 

"Kurt, please. This could be our only chance at finally getting ahead of these guys," Santana actually sounds desperate, she _is_ desperate enough to say please. And I can't help but think how fucking good it will feel to finally get one step in front of this ring. The sweet success of taking down even one of their bosses, let alone all of them.

 

 

"Fuck you. Fine, I'll do it. But if I get caught and sent to some facility in a third world country, you're the one in charge of rescuing me," I cave.

 

"Yes!" Santana triumphantly says. "I knew it. Okay, if you head to the station at about 3:00 in the morning, shifts will be almost over so the guys there will be tired. Just make sure to get out before 3:30 when the shifts change," she explains.

 

"And I'm guessing you'll be safe in bed while I'm risking my life sneaking into the police station, right?" I roll my eyes.

 

"Well, if all goes well with my date tonight I won't be in _my_ bed," I can practically hear Santana's smirk on the other end.

 

"Okay, I did not need to know that," I shake my head, trying to get that image out of my brain. Santana laughs, then her laugh is abruptly cut off.

 

"Hey, I got to go. The guy in charge of white collar has a stick up his ass, and is glaring daggers over here. I'll talk to you later, Kurt. And again, thank you," she hangs up before I can get another word in, and I sigh deeply. I put my phone back in my pocket, sighing once again as I think about how I'm going to do this tonight.

 

Late that night, or really early in the morning if you want to look at it that way, I stand in between two buildings opposite of the police station. Two squad cars are parked in front, and I only saw one light on inside the building. I doubted the front door would be unlocked, and I briefly wondered if I'd have to literally break into the police station if I wanted to get inside. Because that wouldn't raise any alarms.

 

Laughter makes me look over at the side of the station, where I see a couple of police officers standing in the alleyway between the two buildings, smoking cigarettes. I smile, sprinting over to the side. By the time the two officers see me, I've already enchanted them.

 

"Open the door," I say. They both move at the same time, colliding with one another as they obey my command. I roll my eyes, walking through the open door. I figure I will have about ten to fifteen minutes inside before their minds clear enough to raise some kind of alarm.

 

The hallway I'm in currently houses nobody, and I recognize where I am. I follow Santana's directions to where she said the guy they caught would be staying. Along the way, I make sure to shrink out of sight of everybody, not wanting to exhaust myself compelling too many people at once.

 

When I get to the back cells, three officers are standing guard. I quickly compel them, and they open both the entrance door and the secondary door for me. Inside, the only person occupying the cells was one lone man. He stood up as I walked towards his cell, looking at me without surprise. He was tall and very skinny, his salt-and-pepper hair laid classically on his head, and he actually seemed like a normal guy at first glance. However, I know from experience the seemingly normal man can be hiding the most dangerous mind.

 

"Figured it wouldn't take long until you showed up," the man speaks in a thick Boston accent, moving to lean against the bars of his cell as he looked at me.

 

"You know why I'm here then," I tell him, taking another step closer to the man. He smiles, revealing a single dimple on his right cheek.

 

"You want information, like the police do," he says.

 

"They do tend to want stuff like that," I tell him. He laughs, shaking his head at me.

 

"And I'm guessing you're here to help them out with that," he raises an eyebrow in surprise at me. "Last I heard, you and the police weren't exactly holding hands and making each other friendship bracelets."

 

I shrug, "yeah, that's right. But the thing is, I'm still in need of the information you have too. So, are you going to tell me what I want now, or do I have to start singing?" The man is silent, which I take as my answer. So I start singing, not enough to completely take over his mind, I'm not in the mood to get that headache, but enough to where I can ask him as many questions that I want.

 

"Alright. How did you get into this group?" I ask. The man looks at me with his unseeing eyes, his face emotionless and blank.

 

"They came over from Europe, and I gave them the lay of the land. You know, which museums would have the best stuff for them to take. With a nice cut for myself," he says.

 

"Do you know the names of any of the bosses?" I inquire.

 

"No. I didn't care about that, as long as the one they called Mr. Banks gave me my cut we were good," he brings up Mr. Banks, which makes me curious. How close was this guy to the money man?

 

"How'd you get your money? Did someone give it to you?" I ask him.

 

"I met at the house Mr. Banks was staying at," he states. I smile widely at that, figuring that this address could give us one of our biggest breakthroughs of the entire case. I quickly have him tell me the address, and at that moment, I hear shouting coming from outside the cells. I look over at it, and turn back to the guy. He's still staring straight ahead.

 

"And, that's my cue to leave," I say out loud, running through the doors where I sprint past the still compelled guards.

 

"There he is!" I hear a shout behind me, and glance over my shoulder to see several cops rounding the corner of the hallway. I sprint towards the door I came in through, only to find it guarded by several guards. They quickly draw their guns, pointing them at me faster than I could think.

 

"Freeze!" They yell, and I look around, seeing police officers starting to surround me. I raise my hands in the air, not feeling like getting shot again. That shit isn't fun.

 

"You know, I just got more information out of your guy in lockup in ten minutes than you've gotten in several weeks. I really think you guys should be thanking me," I say.

 

"Shut up. Rodriguez, cuff him," One of the officers orders. I inhale sharply, looking over at where one of the younger officers of the group is slowly walking towards me with handcuffs.

 

"Yeah, you know, that doesn't really interest me. I think I'll just go," I tell them, watching as they look at me, waiting. I take a quick breath, releasing a high pitched scream that drops all of them to the ground. The windows nearby shatter at the pitch, and I quickly run towards the window while they are all distracted. I'm jumping out, paying no attention to the broken glass everywhere, when I hear gunshots begin. But luckily, I'm far enough away in the night that they can't see. By the time they begin following me, I'm already sprinting through the alleyway on the opposite side.

 

I get back to the dorm room quickly, happiness bursting out of my chest. Finally, we have something. We have a lead, something that will _finally_ put us ahead of this group. I fight back a triumphant yell as I walk into my dorm room, a little shocked that Blaine is still awake.

 

"Blaine?" I say, making him jump in shock. He turns around quickly, looking at me in surprise.

 

"What happened? You're covered in glass?" Blaine ask. I look down at myself, seeing that my suit is in fact covered in broken glass. I shrug, still ecstatic that I've finally gotten somewhere with this case to worry about trivial things like cuts.

 

"I'm fine. It's just a little glass. I broke a window," I explain, walking towards my closet and grabbing a tee shirt and pair of sweatpants. I head into the bathroom, quickly changing. When I walk out, Blaine is still sitting in his desk.

 

"Why are you up?" I ask. "It's almost four in the morning."

 

"I was worried about you. Lately, you're always gone longer. I thought you were avoiding me for some reason," he quietly says. I look over at him with concern, worried.

 

"Why would I be avoiding you?" I ask, curious about his reasoning. Blaine shrugs, and looks away from me. I walk towards him, sitting on his bed while I look over at him.

 

"I don't know. You don't really need too many reasons to avoid me, I think," Blaine states. I reach over and grab his hand (and wow, I didn't realize until now how close these desks were to the beds).

 

"Hey, are you okay? If this is about what happened with Brandon-"

 

"It's not about Brandon, Kurt. I don't care about that. I care about the fact that I'm worried about you, and you don't ever seem to notice," Blaine interrupts. He looks at me, and then down at our hands. He rips his away from mine, standing up angrily. He strides over to the opposite side of the room, looking like he needs space. I get up as well, about to walk over to him but he's already quickly heading over here again.

 

"Blaine, I-"

 

"I'm tired of this. I'm tired of both of us avoiding what's really going on between us," Blaine snaps. He looks down at the floor briefly, and when he looks up his hazel eyes don't have a trace of anger in them. Instead, they look filled with a hint of desperation. My stomach drops as he reaches over and grabs my hands, and I quickly breath a deep breath in order to be sure I don't pass out. My heart seems to beat fast the longer Blaine stands there.

 

"I care about you Kurt. And I think-no, I know-you feel the same," he softly says. Tears well in my eyes as I look slightly down at him, already knowing that I'm going to have to break both of our hearts.

 

"We can't, Blaine," I tell him. He doesn't let go of my hands though, just holds onto them tighter.

 

"And why not? Why won't you let yourself feel what I know you feel for me?" He asks, his eyes too close, too full of pleading desperation that I need to look away. But they hold me there, they hold me as Blaine shows all that he's feeling through those eyes of his.

 

"I have to keep you safe. We can't be together, Blaine. If anybody found out, you'd be in so much danger, and I can't let myself put you in danger like that," I explain. Blaine pulls me closer to him, and I go easily even though I know I need to get out of his hold. Because the longer he keeps holding me like this, all my walls and reasons for pushing him away begin to crumble down.

 

"But in all of that, did you ever think about what I am feeling? Because Kurt, I don't care. I don't care that you're The Siren. I don't care that you lead this whole other life. I don't care. You say you want to keep me safe?" I nod, thinking he's finally understanding.

 

"Then keep me close," he whispers. He lets go of one of my hands, and reaches up to gently hold my cheek. "Because Kurt Hummel, you are worth the risk."

 

And then all of my reasoning, all of my perfectly sound logic about why we couldn't be together completely disappears as his lips connect with mine. 

 


	15. Opening Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Another chapter, little later than I thought would be written. I've moved into my dorm room (yay) and have been focusing 100% on soccer right now. This past week has been my preseason camp, which if any of you play any kind of sport, you know that preseason is just another word for hell. So, sadly, after two two hour trainings a day, I've been too exhausted to write. Today has been my first day off and so I decided to write! Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Blaine presses his lips tightly to mine, already moving, like he’s never expecting our lips to ever connect again so he’s doing his best to map out every curve, every taste, every single thing about my lips before he’s forced away. After a gasp of shock, I recover my senses enough to grab the side of his jaw and start kissing him back. 

We pull back, both of us blushing. Blaine looked away but I couldn’t stop looking, watching him as he smiled and blushed, all the while looking dazed and yet satisfied. Finally, he looks over at me, to find that I haven’t looked away. He blushes a deeper shade of pink, but holds my gaze. 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel anything just then,” Blaine says softly. I nod, unable to lie when he’s right there, when we just leapt over that barrier. I’m flailing without the safety of that wall to hide behind, the wall that was built to keep Blaine out of my heart. But he found the cracks, he found every single way through the wall and now he managed to knock it down and I momentarily find myself lost without it. 

“Kurt,” Blaine gently takes my hands in both of his, and looks at me deeply, like he’s searching for my soul through my eyes. “I know you said you want to keep me safe. I know it. But please, don’t push me away. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again.  _ You are worth the risk.  _ I don’t care about anything else. I just want you, Kurt Hummel,” his speech brings tears to my eyes at the intensity of his words. 

“I won’t, Blaine. I won’t push you away,” I whisper, and with a triumphant yet relieved smile, Blaine reaches for me at the same time I reach for him, our lips connecting almost violently, as if angered that they’ve been kept separated for so long. 

When we pull away for the second time, there’s not any blushing, just the two of us gazing into one another’s eyes, mirrored smiles on both of our faces. 

“Go out with me,” Blaine asks. I nod immediately, my smile widening along with his. 

“Of course,” I say back. And then Blaine is reaching for me again, kissing me for no other reason than just because he can. And I let him. Because I’m letting my reasons for keeping us apart go. Blaine has crumbled the wall and now all that’s left is open space for my feelings for this man in front of me to emerge and blossom. 

******

I meet up with Santana the next day to let her know everything that I learned from the man in the cells. We sit in our regular booth in Starbucks, both drinking coffees. I think about what might happen later tonight, Blaine wants to surprise me so I had no idea what we were going to do for our first date. 

“So, unless you’ve discovered your serial killer tendencies, I would imagine that creepy smile is because you finally got your head out of your ass and got Blaine’s dick in it instead?” She suddenly smirks. 

“Santana!” I cry, blushing deep red. She just laughs and leans back in her chair, taking another drink of coffee. 

“Well? Am I right? Because I know that something happened between you and Boy Wonder in order for you to grin like a creepy chipmunk,” she continues smirking annoyingly. I sign, rolling my eyes at her. I seem to do that a lot whenever I’m around her. 

“We kissed. That’s it. We’re going out later today,” I tell her. She nods, her annoying smirk still on her face. God, that annoys me. Would it be an abuse of power to enchant her and make her never smirk at me like that again? 

But then she gets serious, her smirk disappearing and a frown replacing it. “What about what you said, about keeping him safe? You know what would happen to him if anybody else found out who you are.” 

“I know,” I sigh, looking down at the table, “that’s part of the reason why it’s taken so long for us to get together. But, he just- he makes me forget about all of that for a little while. Makes me forget that I have the other life and it’s nice. It’s really nice to forget all the other responsibilities and just be a regular twenty year old college student.” 

“Just as long as you remember to stay safe,” Santana gets up from the table, and I follow her outside of the Starbucks, both of us throwing our drink cups away as we leave. 

“See you later, Santana,” I tell her. I turn around about to walk to the subway station when she speaks up. 

“Just promise me something, Kurt,” she says. I turn around to look at her and she breaks out into an ear splitting grin. 

“No glove, no love,” she laughs, walking away without another word. I fight the urge to flip her off even though she wouldn’t have seen me, and I head back to the dorm room with an embarrassed pink tint on my cheeks. I have got to learn to ignore Santana’s interest in my sex life. 

I walk up from the subway station Blaine texted me to get off on later that day. He had a meeting with his professor, so he texted me to meet him at the restaurant instead of both of us walking from our dorm room. 

As I get to the street level, I immediately spot Blaine standing there waiting. He smiled wide as he saw me, and I couldn’t help but mirror it. He looked completely dashing in his red skinny jeans, paired with a black long sleeved shirt tucked tightly into his pants. He had on a red and white bow tie, his black frames perched carefully on his face. 

“You look amazing, like always,” he compliments. I blush lightly at his words, and he shyly reaches to grab my hand. I gleefully accept and we start walking, our fingers laced together. 

“So do you. How was your day?” I ask, letting him lead us to wherever we were going. We stop at a stoplight, the crowd around us slowly getting bigger and forcing us to step closer together. 

“Busy. I sometimes forget how much work goes into pre-med but it’s what I want to do, so I guess it’s okay,” he says. We continue walking, both of us engaging in small talk as we head to where Blaine is leading us. Thankfully, it isn’t long before we arrive at a small restaurant. A sign read Le Goût du Paradis, and underneath it was a small canopy, several empty tables as nobody wanted to eat outside in the early November weather, even though it was unusually warm that night. 

“Come on,” Blaine smiles widely as he gently pulls me towards the door, even as I continue to look around the outside of the restaurant. I look up again at the sign, trying to remember the French I took in high school to figure out what it said. 

“Welcome to Le Goût du Paradis, The Taste of Paradise. Do you have a reservation?” The hostess asks. Blaine nods, not letting go of my hand as we approach the front table. 

“I do, it should be under Anderson,” he says. The hostess nods and hands two menus to one of the waiters, who leads us back into a small and cozy area. Music was gently playing over speakers, soft classical that helped set the mood to leisurely and romantic. I couldn’t help but be impressed with Blaine’s choice in venue for our first date, this was perfect. 

Blaine holds my chair for me, taking my jacket and draping it over the back as he tucks the chair in under me before taking his own seat. I smile as he sits, watching him as he pours both of us water from the pitcher left into two wine glasses. 

“Thank you,” I tell him, accepting my glass and taking a sip. 

“This is beautiful,” I comment, looking around the room. Blaine follows my gaze, smiling happily as I turn back to look at him. 

“Yeah, one of my friend’s dad comes here a lot, and she said it was perfect. I knew you’d love it, especially because I know you love french food,” Blaine explains. I nod, thankful for the thought, and we go about ordering our meal. 

Throughout the night, we talk comfortably, we were used to eating dinner together all the time. Despite the fact that technically this was our first date, there was an air of comfort between the two of us, nothing of the normal awkwardness or nervousness that would accompany a first date. We both ate too much to order dessert, and after we finish dinner, we both decide to go walking around Central Park, seeing as it was only a couple blocks away. 

We hold hands as we walk down the illuminated sidewalks, just enjoying being part of one another’s company. 

“So, Thanksgiving break is coming up next week. Are you going to go home?” Blaine asks. I shake my head, looking down at the path in front of me. 

“No, I’m not. Are you?” I ask. Blaine shakes his head as well. 

“I should, but I figured I’d save my parents the trouble and come home for Christmas. They are going to visit my older brother Cooper anyways, so I wouldn’t even be staying in my old house,” he explains. “Airline tickets are pretty expensive anyways,” he continues. 

“That’s not why I’m not going home,” I find myself saying. Blaine looks at me confused, and I finally glance over to look at him. I sigh, taking comfort in the reassuring grip he has on my hand. 

“I haven’t gone back to Ohio in several years. The last time I went home was for my dad’s funeral my freshman year,” I explain. Blaine inhales sharply, his grip on my hand tightening. I smile sadly, looking away from his gaze as we continue walking in silence for several moments. 

“I’m so sorry, Kurt. Can I ask, how did he die?” Blaine gently asks. 

“He had heart problems. His first heart attack was in my junior year. He got another one the beginning of my freshman year in college. I came home for about a week, but I had to leave for school pretty quickly. He had another one about a week later, and he died,” I tell him, my throat tightening up as tears well in my eyes. I blink quickly, trying to get them to disappear, but only succeed in making some of them fall. Blaine watches as I reach up and quickly wipe them away. 

“He’d be so proud of what you’re doing now, Kurt. You’re helping so many people, even if they don’t know who you are,” he says. I sigh, looking away, knowing that what he’s saying isn’t the complete truth. Knowing that what I told him isn’t the complete truth. 

“Ohio isn’t my home anymore, so I don’t really feel that bad about not going back,” I tell him. 

“I understand. Ohio isn’t the most progressive place for people like us,” Blaine shrugs, and I squeeze his hand in mine. He answers with a squeeze of his own, and we both make the decision to head back to the dorm room. 

We walk into the dorm building together, holding hands as we climb the stairs to our room. We stand outside the door, both us stopping and looking at each other. 

“So, normally this is where one of us kisses the other goodnight and leaves for their separate room, but I guess we are kind of skipping the whole, dating while living apart thing,” Blaine states. I laugh, and he quickly joins. 

“Doesn’t mean we still can’t kiss goodnight, right?” I say cheekily. Blaine laughs again, already stepping forwards. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he states, and he reaches up and kisses me. I smile into the kiss, leaning down so that our lips can connect easier. 

And then my phone rings. And normally I wouldn’t have answered it, but it was Santana’s ringtone. And I knew she was supposed to be out with the other police following the lead I gave her. 

“I have to take this,” I pull back, whispering apologetically to Blaine. He nods, and I answer. 

“Hello?” I say. Immediately, I hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots. 

“Kurt! We need you. We’re surrounded and back up is on it’s way but it’s going to get here too late,” she shouts into the phone. I quickly unlock the door to our room, rushing straight towards my closet to grab my Siren suit. 

“Where are you?” I ask. She tells me the address of the house I got from the guy from the cell, and I tell her I’ll be there as quick as I can. I hang up and change quicker than I’ve ever done before. 

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice stops me from frantically running out of the room in my hoodie. I turn around, no doubt my face full of panic at the thought of Santana dying in the shootout happening, and Blaine seems to understand the need for me to leave as soon as possible. 

“Be careful,” he tells me. I nod, promising that I will, before running out of the dorm room and into the night to save one of my best friends. 

  
  



	16. Shots Fired... Literally

Running through the night used to be pretty scary for me. New York, while beautiful and filled to the brim with dreamers, could be terrifying to somebody who doesn’t know what they are doing. And at first, I had no clue what I was doing.

Now, I’m used to it. I’m used to the sounds and know where I need to go in order to catch a mugger, a bank robber, a murderer. But all of this goes out the window as I run to the higher end neighborhood that my GPS leads me to. And if the GPS wasn’t enough, the sirens definitely should have been. Also the gunshots, those were pretty loud too.

The house in question was surrounded by cop cars. The police were shouting, rushing into the building while gunshots rang out above the sounds of the sirens. Everything was painted a shade of red and blue from the lights on the cars, and ambulances lined the block, EMTs waiting for the okay to go in and take the wounded to the nearest hospital. My heart speeds up as I think what would happen if Santana was one of those wounded.

I stop outside the barrier. I still hadn’t changed out of my hoodie covering my suit, hadn’t put my mask on yet, I wasn’t Sirened out. There was nowhere that I could, cops were literally everywhere, and there were a ton of them by the front door. So, that’s probably out. I look around, trying to figure out a way into the building quickly, shots were still ringing out and I could hear the police shouting out orders in between the rounds.

I finally spot an open window, and without hesitation I quickly pull on my mask and rip off the hoodie, sprinting under the barrier and into the window. I hear shouts behind me, probably police recognizing who I am and yelling out orders, but I’m already at the window before they can respond. I shove it up, thankful that it didn’t have those screen protectors to prevent bugs from flying in, and hoist myself up and in.

I’m also very grateful that it didn’t drop me in the middle of the shootout. I don’t really feel like a repeat performance that much. Sorry guys, no encore for you. Kurt Hummel has left the building.

Okay, focus Hummel. Find Santana.

I’m in the kitchen, that much is obvious. I look around, seeing two different doorways, both significantly darker than the kitchen which was illuminated by the siren lights outside. Picking on a whim, I choose the right door and quietly open it, wincing when it creaks.

Almost immediately, I drop behind the nearby armchair. Just in time, I see a cop pointing their recently fired gun right where I just was. They stare at me in amazement, and I just raise a finger to my lips telling him to be quiet. I’m sure he realizes by now whose side I’m on, and even though there are some bitter feelings about my arrest warrant, I figure right now they know that I’ll fight on their side and then split the next second.

The cop nods, and we both continue towards the main living room, where most of the shots are originating from. He gives me another look, and then hurries to cover as a rogue shot fires our direction. I quickly put the wall between my body and the shooting, and the first thing I do when I think I’m safe enough is look on the ground. It looks like both sides are taking casualties, and my heart stops for a moment when I see a dark haired woman lying unmoving on the ground, her blue uniform stained with red. But then I hear Santana’s voice shouting in Spanish above the sound of gunfire, and my shoulders sag in relief.

Alright, let’s do this.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and start singing. With this many people, I know I’m not going to be able to enchant them all just by singing a few pitches. So I start singing the first song that pops into my head,  _Being Alive._

The irony is not lost on me in this moment at all.

Slowly, verse by verse, the shots stop. With this many people, I’m not able to enchant them to the point where I gain full control of their thoughts, where I can make them forget or implant false memories, but I am able to gain control of their bodies.

“Get the Siren!” I hear shouts from Team Bad Guys, and I see several of them heading my way. I look around, trying to figure out what to do. I can’t stop singing, otherwise the gunshots are just going to start again on both sides, probably aiming at me. But, I also can’t let the scary looking guy with the knife anywhere close to me.

Thankfully, the cops from outside finally get off their asses and charge inside. They see the scene in front of them, and half of them immediately rush to get a hold of Team Bad Guys, while the other goes to their fallen and wounded commrades.

I sing through the song another time, slowly backing up. I see the last of Team Bad Guys in handcuffs, and I finally stop singing. It takes a couple seconds for everyone to shake themselves out of my enchantment, it’s quicker because I had to enchant a large group over three or so people. Santana immediately searches around, and I smile when our eyes connect. She gives me a thumbs up, and mouths _thanks_. I nod, and turn around.

Only to come face to face with about five police officers.

Crap.

I turn around again, and once more find police officers standing there, looking very upset and crass.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’m going to leave,” I motion to my left, turning to find even more officers starting to walk up to me.

“Nice try, Siren. Thanks for the help, but I think it’s about time we bring you in,” one lady says, holding up a pair of handcuffs. I look around me, finally looking back at the one lady who spoke up.

“So this is the thanks I get for helping you guys? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve helped and or caught about half of the guys you currently have in prison,” I tell her. She shrugs, and I feel one of the guys behind me grab my arms roughly and put handcuffs on my wrist. I take a deep breath, about to scream, when the lady in front surprises me. Instead of bringing her hands up to her ears hoping to drown out the scream I was currently building towards, she laughs.

“You really think we are that stupid? Those handcuffs block your power, go ahead and try,” she says. I look behind me, seeing just a pair of standard silver handcuffs. So, I stupidly do what the lady says. I scream.

And holy hell that hurts.

I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of my Siren screams. Obviously, I have some sort of immunity to the ear piercing pitch, but now I understand what makes the recipients of my scream drop to the ground in pain. In fact, that’s exactly what I do. I drop to the ground (which hurts just in itself. Hello, hardwood floor,) and groan. They are pulling me up off the ground, and the fight completely leaves my body when I start to wonder what is in those handcuffs? Whatever it is, they either A: strip my immunity what makes me not hear my scream normally, or B: just cause immense pain whenever I draw upon my powers. Or C: Whatever scientific reasoning somebody else might come up with. I'm a music major, okay?

Two cops start to push me towards the front door, and I go along willingly. Without the ability to scream and enchant, I’m powerless in the hands of these police officers. As I’m walking, I see Santana starting to approach. Our eyes connect and I shake my head as inconspicuous as possible.

“ _Don’t_ ,” I mouth to her. She stares at me surprised, but doesn’t make a move which is exactly what I need right now. She can’t try to free me without revealing that she’s known who I am all along, and if that happened, I’m sure she would get in a shit load of trouble. At least they haven’t tried to take off my mask yet, which I’m sure they will once we get back to the station and they start officially arresting me.

We walk out of the house, and the first thing that hits me are the lights. The police lights still light everything up in blue and red, and by now, news trucks have parked themselves as close as possible, and they light up the yard in front. It takes a couple seconds before someone yells out  when they see me in handcuffs, and immediately all the nearby cameras are put on me. The cops try to shield me as they walk, the reporters rush as close as physically possible, cameras are shoved in my face and there are questions from every angle around me.

They put me in the back of a car, and start driving. I look out the window as we drive quickly, the chaos of everything disappearing into the quiet night. It would have been a pretty peaceful drive, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I was getting arrested actually.

We arrive at the precinct, where news reporters stood waiting outside of the doors. No doubt they had heard about what happened and had come here to report as well. The two officers park, and immediately grab me and haul me out of the car. My shoulders scream in pain at the rough treatment, but I try to ignore that. They walk me towards the front doors, and the cameras quickly turn on me. I’m sure that all the media outlets are squealing in joy right now. I can practically see the headlines now, _**The Siren: Caught and Revealed.**_

The officers escort me through the doors and we start heading towards the back of the precinct. I walk the familiar path that I walk when I visit Santana, and that’s where things start getting strange.

They lead me to an interrogation room, deposit me in the chair, and leave without even uttering a single word. And of course, they leave the handcuffs on.

I study the plain room, but it’s quickly over because there is literally nothing in here. Just a desk and several chairs, and a camera that’s hooked into the wall, it’s red light flashing steadily as it records. I look over at the wall, which I know is a two way mirror because it just reflects me. I wonder who’s on the other side, curious about who it is that’s going to rip off my mask and reveal my identity to the world.

Luckily, I don’t have to wait long. A woman in a dark grey pant suit walks in, her black heels clipping on the tile floor. She is followed by two men in matching suits, who stand to the side. I raise an eyebrow at the two men, who follow the smaller woman as she pulls up a chair and sits in front of me wordlessly. She smiles as she looks over at me. Her manicured fingers drumed across the desk continuously while she sat there, just staring at me. After several moments of sitting there, she gets up just as quickly and walks to one of the men, who hands her a small folder.

“Kurt Hummel, twenty one years old, originally from Lima, Ohio. Currently attends NYU studying music education in your junior year.” Her voice rings loudly in the silence, and my stomach drops as she reads a brief overview of my personal information. She drops the folder in front of me so that I can see my student picture as well as the bio she just read. I look up in surprise.

“How do you-”

“Know who you are?” The woman interrupts. She smiles widely, taking her seat once again. “You and Officer Lopez aren’t nearly as stealthy as you think,” she continues. I stare at her, shocked into silence. She just smiles and continues talking.

“Relax, Mr. Hummel. After our meeting, you’re going to go straight out those doors and continue doing exactly what you are doing,” she states.

“Who are you?” I ask. She laughs.

“I’m Special Agent Linda Bolton. I’ve been assigned to this case the second they made their move on US soil,” she then pulls out her wallet, where she shows me her ID. Next to it is a gleaming gold badge. FBI it says, and right underneath, Criminal Investigation Division. The words Special Agent are also underneath that.

“Okay, so if you want me to do the same thing that I’m doing now, why arrest me?” I ask. She sighs.

“Let me be honest, Mr. Hummel. You’re a vigilante. A civilian carrying out law enforcement without legal permission. That’s why there’s an arrest warrant for you, because you are breaking the law,” Bolton smiles while I look down at my lap, figuring out that there is no way I’m getting out of this mess now.

“However, we are willing to grant immunity, should you, lets say, bring down an international art theft organization with us?” She continues. I look up at her in surprise once again, and she laughs.

“Mr. Hummel, you’re the one who’s gotten all the information that’s helped us out in this case. There’s a reason Ms. Lopez was assigned to this case, and let me say, it’s not because of her sparkling personality,” again, she keeps me speechless. All this time, they’ve known who I am all this time and my connection to Santana. I sit there in silence for several moments, before my mind catches up with the throbbing in my arms. 

"If I promise not to scream, will you guys take off the handcuffs?" I ask. Bolton nods her head in my direction, and one of the guys steps forward. I stand up and he unlocks the cuffs. I roll my shoulders and rub my raw wrists, thanking both of them for taking the handcuffs off. That is not fun, let me tell you that much. I look down at the redness on both my wrists, and immediately wince. I need lotion, pronto. 

Suddenly, the other guy who didn't unlock my handcuffs steps forwards, whispering in Bolton’s ear. She nods, and then her eyebrows narrow and she immediately grabs my folder, which still lays abandoned on the desk in front of me. She flips through several pages, her eyes widening as she looks at the page in front of her.

“What? What’s going on?” I ask, curious about why she’s looking at my folder with such shock. Bolton looks up from the folder, folding it and setting it neatly on the table in front of her before she speaks.

“As you know, the house that the NYPD was an important lead, again, which you helped acquire. It was the personal house of the man we knew as Mr. Banks. His real name was Michael Trevy, and it seems that he’s an easier flip than we thought. He just gave up the name of the one in charge of it all,” Bolton states.

“Wait, seriously? Just like that?” I ask. Bolton grins.

“It’s amazing what some people will say when they’re told that we have their partner who is currently screwing them over,” she says. She looks down at the folder in front of her, and I remember her shock when she was reading it.

“It seems that you have a personal connection that no one realized,” she continues.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I stop her before she can keep going. “You’re saying that I know the head of an international crime organization?” I ask. She nods.

“Do you remember a man named Patrick Monroe?” She asks.

And just like that, my heart freezes. 

 


	17. Demons and Scars

Patrick Monroe.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

_**FUCK.** _

“Mr. Hummel?” Bolton is saying something, I’m aware of that much. But when your heart is beating twice the speed as normal and your blood has run cold and fear strikes deep in your gut, it’s kind of difficult to concentrate on something as simple as talking.

“Kurt?” Bolton says again, reaching out and touching my shoulder. On instinct, I flinch away, shocking her and me. Crap. I thought I was over this.

“Hey, Kurt, are you alright?” Bolton asks. I almost feel like laughing. In what universe do I seem like I’m alright? I unclench my fists, I didn’t even realize they were clenched, and take a deep breath.

Nope, doesn’t help alleviate the fear. And it definitely doesn’t get rid of the lump in my throat.

“Yeah, I remember him,” I finally whisper. Bolton looks at me, concern in her eyes and I can’t stand to sit anymore. The chair makes a loud scraping sound as it moves across the floor, and at my sudden movement, I notice both of the guys in the back immediately twitch, their hands going to the same spot on their hip.

“It says in your file you two were best friends in high school until he disappeared,” Bolton states.

“Yeah, my senior year,” I tell her.

“Can you stop pacing, Mr. Hummel? It’s making them nervous,” Bolton suddenly states. I stop, looking at where I was in the room and then back at the guys behind me. Oh, I hadn’t even been aware that I was pacing. I sigh and take a seat again, my leg immediately starts bouncing up and down.

“I don’t-I don’t remember much about him,” _lies._ “We were friends in high school,” _more lies,_ “and then he moved to Europe.” _And that was the greatest moment of my life._

“What do you remember? What was his personality like?” Bolton asks. I look away, unable to look at her. Instead, I look down at the desk in front of me, the memories that I tried so hard to bury deep down clawing their way to the surface. I remember the look of his eyes most, how they’d stare at me, taking perverse pleasure in everything he made me do. Everything he forced me to do.

“He was nice,” I tell her. It was the truth actually, at first. Patrick was a nice guy, he had all the correct answers in school. He wasn’t afraid to talk to the gay kid, and he wasn’t even in glee club. I think he was my first friend I made that wasn’t in glee. “He was the kid that all the teachers used as an example of what to do. He loved art, was obsessed with it in school.” Again, not a lie. His favorite subject was art, and he always kept himself updated on the latest news in the art world. Oh, the irony.

Bolton asks me a couple more questions about my friendship with Patrick. I don’t think I’ve lied more to an authority figure before in my entire life. Bolton eventually lets me go. She has somebody drive me back to NYU, and the first thing I think about when I get outside was that it was light out. Thankfully, Bolton got me a hoodie and one of the officers had a spare pair of sweatpants that I could steal, so I wasn’t walking out into the light of day in my Siren suit.

I didn’t get the chance to see Santana at all before I’m gently shoved into a police car, so I make a reminder to call her and let her know I’m okay. And I’ll tell her they know who I am.

They drop me off in front of my dorm building, and I barely get a chance to say thanks before they are speeding off again. I’m only thankful that there wasn’t too many people outside that could see me exiting a cop car. That would create some questions.

I quickly head towards my dorm room, unlocking the door and the sound of the TV blaring the news channel greets me.

“Kurt!” I gasp in surprise as a body throws themselves at me. I wrap my arms around Blaine, who holds me way too tight for me not to be worried.

“Blaine, what’s wrong?” I quickly ask. He lets go slowly, pulling back and my stomach drops when I see his red eyes and dark bags, evidence that he hasn’t slept at all last night.

“You got arrested. It’s all over the news. You didn’t come back at all last night, so I looked at the news about four and everywhere was saying The Siren was arrested,” Blaine explains. I then remember the crowd of reporters both at Mr. Bank’s house and the precinct.

“I’m fine, I promise,” _okay, that was another lie but he doesn’t need to know that._ “They let me go,” I continue. Blaine pulls me back into another hug, and I awkwardly maneuver us both to sit on my bed as he doesn’t let go.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again. This time, when Blaine looks up at me, his eyes shine with tears and my stomach drops once again.

“I just, I kept thinking when you didn’t show up. I remembered the night you got shot,” he grabs my hand tightly in his own, and squeezes. I manage not to say anything as the tears roll down his cheeks. “I kept imagining you in an alley somewhere, bleeding to death.” I pull him to me when he starts whimpering, feeling him shake as he continues.

“You were just lying there, for _hours_. Nobody knew where you were, and then I just imagine someone finding you and I wouldn’t find out and then I would think about how you were all alone and bleeding out,” he sounds like he would have continued, but another cry cuts him off and I pull him tighter to me, my own tears falling down my cheeks.

“I’m here,” I whisper, feeling Blaine grab onto the fabric of my hoodie tightly as he all but crawls into my lap.

“Now you understand what I meant when I said I was trying to protect you,” I softly say. Blaine doesn’t respond, but I know he hears me when he tenses up in my arms. “You wouldn’t be thinking like this if I had just been strong enough to resist you like I should have,” I continue.

“Stop that,” Blaine says harshly. He pulls back, and this time when he looks at me, his eyes are still teary and red, but they are set in hard determination. “I told you I didn’t care. Stop it,” he repeats.

“I just want to protect you,” I whisper, reaching up and gently stroking his cheek with the back of my pointer finger. He flinches away, and I watch him stand up, his shoulders tense and that hard determination still in his eyes.

“You keep saying that, Kurt. You want to protect me, but from who?” He yells, anger clear in his voice. I stand up with him, and he glares at me, daring me to answer him. And so I do, and I snap, his anger fueling me and the words just come tumbling out.

“From myself!” I yell back. And just like that, silence. He starts there while my breathing picks up, and the words just keep coming.

“Everyone’s lives work better when I’m at arms reach, Blaine! Ask my stepmother, or my stepbrother. They wouldn’t have gone through the heartbreak they did when my dad died if I hadn’t introduced them. Why do you think I never go home, Blaine? Because everybody there is better off if I never go back!” I yell, watching the tears fall down Blaine’s face as I keep going. My heart clenches painfully when I think about Carole and Finn, about having to push them away after my dad died. And I’m right, they are better off without me. Without the constant fear of something happening to me, without the constant worry.

“But it isn’t, Kurt!” Blaine interjects. “You say that it would be better if I just let you go but I _can’t_.”

“But you should.” I state, finally looking away from him. “You should let me go Blaine, because my demons are catching up with me and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.” I stand there, the tears blurring my sight so I don’t see when Blaine steps forward and takes my hand. I flinch involuntarily, but Blaine doesn't let go of my hand.

“I’m staying, Kurt. I’m staying and you and your demons can’t make me run,” he says. I look up, seeing that determination in his eyes once again. I sigh, reaching up and gently running the back of my finger down the line of his jaw before my hands fall back to my lap and I sit back down onto my bed. Blaine follows wordlessly, and I hug my knees to my chest.

“You once asked me about my scars, do you remember?” I ask. I look over at Blaine to watch him nod.

“We finally know who’s in charge of this art organization, and it terrifies me, Blaine. Because I know him,” I break off, swallowing past a throat full of fear. Blaine scoots towards me, sitting right up next to my side and I close my eyes and just let his warmth wash over the cold I feel from the terror in my veins.

“His name is Patrick Monroe. And he was my best friend in high school,” I whisper. “He was the kind of guy that was friends with everybody, but we had a friendship that I hadn’t had with anybody at that point. It was after I got my powers, and I was still terrified to use them. But Patrick didn’t care, he brought me out of my terror induced shell and became my friend.

“And then I found out about his power. To this day, he’s still the only person I know that has powers like I do,” I don’t look at Blaine, I can’t. I can’t even open my eyes, the memories too terrifying and overwhelming to even move.

“It was little things, at first. He’d ask me to get stuff for him, coffee or lunch, and I wouldn’t realize that he had compelled me until later, but I wasn’t even sure if he had. I convinced myself that he hadn’t, because we were friends and friends don’t do that to each other. Anyways, Patrick was an artist. I went to his house, one day, and his parents weren’t home. He was working on something, and I don’t remember what happened, but somehow his exacto knife ended up in my hand.

“He made me cut myself, and I remember him using the blood and painting with it,” I want to stop then but I can’t. Now that I’m finally letting myself talk about it, I can’t stop. I squeeze Blaine’s hand tighter, not sure when he ended up grabbing it in the first place.

“He compelled me over and over again, making me cut myself over and over, making me hold still while he cut me. I couldn’t tell anybody, nobody would believe me and if they did, he would have just compelled them too. I wasn’t able to get away until he moved to Europe,” I finish. Blaine sits in silence, and I know without even looking he has tears rolling down his cheeks again.

“Come here,” he whispers. That’s all he says, but it’s all I need to hear. I fall into his chest, curled up into as tight of a ball as I can get, needing to make myself as small as possible.

“He’s my demon, Blaine. He’s the one demon whose face never changes and now I have to face him and I forgot how terrifying it is to face your demons,” I cry. Blaine just holds onto me tighter, my heart pounding as I shut my eyes tightly, trying to drown out the world around us.

“Come here,” he repeats, his hand runs up and down my back as I hold onto him, finally letting myself feel the absolute terror at the thought of seeing him again.

“I’m scared,” I whisper to myself, my voice muffled in the fabric of Blaine’s hoodie. Blaine squeezes me gently, and I close my eyes even tighter.

“You’re allowed to be, Kurt. You’re allowed to be scared,” he says. I shake my head, pulling back from his hoodie only enough to clearly speak.

“But I can’t be. I’m supposed to be the hero,” I state. Blaine doesn’t say anything, but he places a finger under my chin and gently pushes me to look up. He stares down at me, his hazel eyes soft and comforting.

“You don’t have to be the hero all the time, Kurt. Sometimes, you get to be the victim too,” he tells me. I don’t say anything, and neither does he. I just lay my head back against his chest, drawing myself up into a tight ball once again. Blaine doesn’t do anything, he just holds me as tight as possible, singing softly under his breath, helping me drown out the demons who threaten to pull me apart. 

 


	18. Nostalgia Sucks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay Hi. So... I'm sorry for looking like I've abandoned this fic. I promise I haven't, and I won't. It's just college is so much harder than I thought and I'm so stressed out right now. I've had a hard time getting motivation to actually write, but I really just needed to get out of my own head and so I cranked out this chapter with like, three hours of sleep and a lot of coffee.

With the seasons changing to winter, my time out as the Siren becomes more and more of a chore. Not because I don’t want to help out the innocent bystanders to crime, but because it’s so freaking _cold_. Cold and me do not get along one bit. Thanksgiving comes and goes, and with it the stress of midterms and then comes the stress of finals.

But finally, the winter break begins and I have the familiar fight with student services before I am given permission to stay on campus during winter like I always do.

Blaine and I continue to go out on dates, and despite the shaky start with me trying to keep him at arm's length, we get closer and closer. And the fact becomes that I can’t let him go now, I refuse to let him go. And luckily, he refuses to let me go, too.

Santana and I also work hard together. Surprising, she was relatively calm when I told her how the FBI knew my real identity and our connection to each other. She was surprised about Patrick Monroe from high school being the big boss of this international crime organization, but she still doesn’t know the full story. In fact, besides myself, Blaine is the only one who knows of the truth about what happened to Patrick and me.

I walk towards the police precinct once again, tucking my hands into my pocket and trying to hurry down the sidewalk without slipping on the ice that wanted to surprise me every other step. Luckily, I manage to reach the doors and the blessed heated air inside without falling on my ass. Santana already waits for me in the waiting area, and we head back into the back conference room. She keys in the passcode on the door, and with a soft click it unlocks and we walk in.

That was another change, with the awareness that the FBI knew about our meetings, they gave us permission to have our weekly chats in the private conference room where the FBI held all their findings and paperwork on the art ring. With new files from Interpol and the FBI available to us, I’m proud to say we’ve gotten abso-fucking-lutely nowhere.

“Alright, let’s go over this again,” Santana states, pulling the door closes and grabbing a seemingly random file from the stack on the table.

The table was littered with manila colored files, some thick and some thin, with multiple stacks strewn all over the large conference table. The white board was filled with mug shots, as well as descriptions of each boss. There was blank mugs above the names Painter and Employer, but Mr. Banks had his actual name underneath the mugshot of the guy. And the drivers licence photo of Patrick Monroe laid above the name Top Boss. When I first saw that photo, the photo of the man who still haunts my nightmares, I’ll admit I was terrified. My blood ran cold as I looked into his dark blue eyes. At first glance, you’d never know that those were the eyes that watched with glee as he made me cut myself over and over again, each time a longer cut, a deeper cut, more and more pain.

Fuck, I’m doing it again. I’m letting him control me. I take a deep breath and look away from the board, towards Santana who’s looking at the file currently open in front of her. I walk over and glance at it, seeing it’s the file on Monroe’s life before he seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth three years ago.

We pour over the files for what seems like the hundredth time, still getting nowhere. After two hours, both of us decide to call it a day, and both of us were frustrated beyond belief.

“Tell Blaine Merry Christmas for me,” Santana states as I grab my scarf and jacket from the nearby chair.

“I will. Have fun back in Ohio,” I tell her.

“Hey, Kurt,” Santana’s quickly says. I let go of the door handle and turn around, seeing her standing there. When I look at her, she momentarily looks down, and I see something that I normally never see on Santana’s face. Uncertainty.

“You should call them,” she finally says. I take a sharp inhale, the familiar pain in my heart stabbing me at her words. Santana obviously sees that hurt on my face because she quickly starts talking before I can recover.

“Come on, Kurt. You know they won’t call you after how you left. But every time I go home, they always want to know how you’re doing.” I wait for her to finish, the familiar anger welling up at her bringing up this topic that clearly doesn’t concern her.

“Stay out of it, Santana. It’s none of your business,” I snap.

“It is my business. You’re my friend and your family is worried about you. And just because you refuse to acknowledge the fact that even though your father died, doesn’t mean you stopped having a family,” she retorts.

“Santana, I’m serious, stay the fuck out of it,” my voice stays level, I give her one last glare, pulling all of my anger at her bringing up this subject into it. And before she can say another word, I pull open the door with much more force than necessary. It would have been much better if it had made a loud thud as I slammed it close, but I just settle for walking briskly out of the police station.

I head back to my dorm room as quickly as I can, cursing Santana for bringing up that subject. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and to find out that she’s still talking to them about me makes me even more pissed. Because she’s just giving them hope that I’m going to come back when she should just do what’s best for them and let me leave their lives.

Thankfully, Blaine is nowhere to be found when I enter my dorm room. I close the door and immediately sink against it, falling down until I’m sitting on the ground with my knees tucked up against my chest. I wrap my arms around my knees, bringing them in tighter as I’m unable to forget the last memories of Ohio.

_The hospital was becoming a much too familiar sight, and the trek to the ICU has been walked way too many times._

_“Where is he?” I demand, seeing her and Finn sitting outside a hallway. Carole looks up at me, tears in her eyes, and my heart immediately stops._

_“Kurt, honey,” she says in that careful voice you take when you’re about to shatter somebody’s fucking world._

_“No,” I whisper, my hand coming up to my mouth as tears well in my eyes. My heart hasn’t started beating yet, my chest hurts, it hurts to breathe and I’m terrified of the next words to come out of her mouth but I need them._

_“I’m so sorry, Kurt. His heart stopped an hour ago,” she softly whispers, and she immediately starts walking towards me. I take a step back, and I’m aware of the fact that she looks hurt but I’m too busy freaking out to care._

_“I was on a plane. I got back to New York and I couldn’t- Oh god,” my chest was too tight, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to move. Carole takes another step forward, but I take another step back._

_“I should have been here. You told me to leave, you told me he would be fine!” I yell at Carole. Tears start streaming down her face, and Finn jumps up from his chair, anger clear in his face along with the redness of his eyes._

_“Don’t yell at her!” He demands. His anger just fuels my own, and I immediately round on him next._

_“Don’t you fucking say anything. You weren’t even his real son. You still have a fucking family!” I scream, and Finn grabs my shirt, pulling me towards him as my anger only increases._

_“You take that fucking back,” he growls._

_“You going to hit me? Do it, I dare you,” I growl back, feeling my anger increasing every second. Every painful beat of my heart, my anger continues to build until I swear I can see red._

_“Boys, stop it!” Carole yells, and somebody grabs me while a doctor in a white coat grabs Finn, pulling him back. I struggle to get out of the hold of the person holding me, wanting to badly to just punch Finn in the face. In his face that dares to look sad for the loss of **my** father. _

_“I’m his son! I’m his son and now I have nobody!” I scream, watching as Finn tries to escape the hold of the person holding him back._

_And then my screams change. All the anger, all the grief, it just pours out of me. Glass windows shatter, the arms holding me back let go and moans of pain sound from all around me as people hit the ground. Tears stream down my cheeks as I continue to scream, unable to control it, unable to stop it, not wanting to stop until everybody feels the same pain as I do._

_“Kurt,” Carole’s whimper somehow reaches my ears above the sound of blood rushing through my ears. I stop, looking down at her as the realization of what I’m doing sinks in. I look at her in horror, at Finn who’s staring at me with disbelief._

_“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and then I turn and run. I run away and grab the next flight to New York. And on the flight there, the hollow emptiness in my chest reminding me with every beat of pain what I did, I promise myself they are better off without me. Because they still have each other, and me? Well, I have no one._

“Kurt? What’s going on?” I jump as the door tries to open behind me. I wipe my cheeks, trying to rid the evidence of me breaking down in tears before I respond.

“Nothing, sorry,” I tell him, getting up and opening the door. Blaine looks up at me, and his brow narrows in confusion as he stares.

“Are you okay? Were you crying?” He immediately asks, and I move aside to let him into the room.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m okay,” I say, turning my back to him, hoping beyond hope he drops the subject and lets it go. But of course, like everything in my life, I’m extremely unlucky in that aspect. I flinch when he gently strokes a hand up my back.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” He repeats. I shake my head, but Blaine continues to prod, his stupid hand rubbing circles on my back and before I know it I’m leaning into his touch like he can chase away all the bad things that’s happened in my life.

“I miss my dad,” I finally admit. Blaine manages to turn me around and pulls me into a hug. I feel his face bury itself in my neck and I wrap my arms around him tightly, pulling him as tight as I can into my body.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” Blaine whispers, and it doesn’t make the ache in my chest any better, but just knowing he’s there helps the ache throb just a little bit less. 

 


	19. Old Friends

Term begins again, the Christmas holidays finish, and with the new year, comes with me a fresh determination to finally bring Patrick Monroe and his whole art ring to justice. Santana and I continue to pour over everything in Monroe's known life. Every tiny detail is checked, researched, and gone over with a fine tooth comb.

And then the miracle happens.

It was one of those perfect mornings. Blaine didn't have anything to do that day, and neither did I. The soft morning light gently filtered in through the standard dorm window blinds, causing me to slowly wake up. When I open my eyes, I look down to see Blaine already awake, laying on my chest and looking up at me. Our positions throughout the night hadn't changed, and despite how small the dorm beds were for two people, it was still cold enough that the close proximity didn't cause unnecessary heat.

"Good morning," Blaine whispers, his lips spreading in a smile as he rested his hand on my chest, then his chin on top of his hand. I smiled back, and as if reading my mind, Blaine reaches up and our lips connect in a soft kiss.

"Good morning," I whisper back once he returns to his previous position on my chest. I run my fingertips up and down his arm, watching as he rests the side of his head on my chest, just able to see the satisfied smile on his face before he turns around completely.

"How long have you been up?" I ask him. He doesn't move before answering me, instead he just wiggles closer to me, and lays his cold, bare feet against my calves. It takes everything I have not to flinch away, but they are already warming up against my legs so I manage not to move.

"Not long, just a few minutes before you woke up," he responds. "You don't have anything today, right?" He continues.

"Of course I do. I have plans. They consists of me and you laying in this bed way past the decent time to get out of bed," I grin, watching as he twists his head to give me an answering grin back.

"Oh, and what are your plans for us in this bed?" He coyly asks. I laugh happily, my grin widening before I answer.

"Oh, I think we could figure something out," Blaine is already crawling up the bed and kisses me, and I eagerly respond back. I run my hands up his back, feeling the muscles shifting underneath my palms as he moves to lay fully on top of me. I close my eyes in bliss as he begins kissing down the line of my jaw, arching my head back as he begins gently sucking on one spot on my neck.

And then my phone rings.

"No," Blaine whines as he hears it begin going off. I reach one arm out and blindly feel for my phone, finally finding it to see Santana calling.

"Let me just tell her I'm not coming in and we can continue where we left off," I kiss his cheek quickly, answering as I feel Blaine sit down fully on me, his weight pressing me into the bed. He grins as he begins trailing his fingers up and down my sides.

"I'm not coming in, Santana," I tell her immediately, glaring at Blaine as he once again leans down and starts kissing my neck again.

"You might want to rethink that, Hummel. Remember when we decided that only a miracle would help us find Monroe?" She asks.

"Yes," I tell her, smacking Blaine lightly when he starts sucking the skin in the dip of my collarbone. I do not want to moan when I'm on the line with Santana. He just gives me a mischievous grin before trailing his kisses lower. Crap, I really have to get off the line with Santana.

"Well a fucking miracle happened. Get in, we raid Monroe's house tonight and we need your help," she hangs up, and I hear the click before a dial tone. I groan in disappointment, because now I have to get up and Blaine was obviously just getting started.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, looking up from his current spot on my chest.

"I have to go," I whisper. He pouts, there is no other word for it, his bottom lip trembles and his eyes widen into those puppy dog eyes he's so damn good at.

"Why?" He asks, somehow not sounding like a five year old being told he can't have candy for dinner even though he's clearly pouting like one.

"We found out where Monroe might be hiding. They're raiding his house tonight," I explain. Blaine's pout turns into a smile, and he rolls off me and back onto the bed.

"What are you waiting for? Go! You've been waiting for a break like this forever!" Blaine exclaims. I smile at his enthusiasm, kissing him quickly before I get out from under the covers. I quickly throw on my siren suit, putting on a pair of jeans and shirt over it. I style my hair the fastest I ever have before, and with one last smile over at Blaine, who still lays on my bed watching me, I leave.

I arrive at the precinct and walk towards the familiar conference room. Inside, FBI agents and NYPD officers are talking loudly, and in the front of the room is Special Agent Bolton, who stands in front of a projector. I spy Santana standing in the back, and head over towards her.

"They really found Monroe's house?" I ask. She nods, looking over at me as I lean back against the wall next to her.

"Yeah. They found a shell company owned by Monroe's father, a corporation called A Evening. It's an anagram for his last name, Angevine," she explains. I narrow my eyes at the last name, it seems very familiar, but for some reason I just can't put my finger on it.

"Wait, Monroe's last name isn't even Monroe?" I ask.

"No, it is. He changed it before coming to the US and enrolling in McKinley," Santana states.

"Why did he change his last name?" I wonder aloud. Santana shrugs, and before she can answer, the lights dim and everybody stops talking to look up at Agent Bolton.

"Good morning everybody," she states. "I hope you all had a good night's sleep, because you're going to need it." She clicks on the projector, and it projects the case information that we know already. She goes over the details of Patrick Monroe and his operation, showing how he's successfully grew his ring throughout the world's major art countries. England, France, Italy, and all over Europe before coming to the United States.

"Now, tonight. We will raid a house that we've linked back to Monroe," she goes over the details of the raid, and I watch as she describes where everybody will enter, and what the goal is.

"And one last thing," she says before everybody leaves, they all turn back to her.

"The person known as the Siren will be there. Under no circumstances are you to change your objective to him. He's there to help us in exchange for immunity from the vigilante charges," outrage from the NYPD officers begin at Bolton's declaration, and I'm very grateful to be standing in the back out of sight of everybody. I stick out like a sore thumb, not in a uniform like the NYPD or a suit and tie like the feds. If somebody actually tried to look for me, it would be plainly obvious that I was the Siren.

Before anybody else leaves, I sneak out. I don't want more people to know who I am, especially because it seems like the NYPD has problems with the FBI giving me immunity from their vigilante charges.

Minutes later, the conference room empties, and I watch as Feds and NYPD alike loudly air their disagreement at working with me. Well, The Siren. Him? Alter egos are way too confusing.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Hummel," Agent Bolton says as she leaves. Santana comes out right after her, and both women walk over towards me.

"In better circumstances too. You know, like with me not in handcuffs," I respond. Bolton smiles and nods at Santana as she walks past. She continues down the hallway, back to her desk I'm assuming.

"You ready for tonight?" Bolton asks. She begins walking and I have no choice but to follow.

"I guess, and you're sure the NYPD isn't going to try and arrest me? Because from what I saw, it looked like there was a lot of disagreement at you guys offering me immunity," I say. Bolton nods, and she looks out towards the bullpen through the glass wall between us and them. It's chaos, as I've come to understand, but it's somehow organized in all it's chaos. Everybody has a role, everybody has something that needs to be done, and they all are working towards the same common goal.

"I made sure they understood after you left. They don't like it, but it's not their job to like it. It's their job to follow my orders, and these are my orders," she looks back at me when she says that, and smiles warmly.

"I have a son, younger than you are. He's only in middle school. But if when he grew up and told me he was doing what you were doing for ordinary people, I'd like to think I'd be proud of him," she tells me. I avoid her gaze in favor of watching the events of the bullpen, not knowing where she is going with her story.

"I'm sure your family would be proud of you," Bolton states. I turn to her, my face emotionless.

"Well, they're dead, so I've got no one left besides Santana to be proud of me," and I don't look back as I start walking away, wanting to get out of this conversation two minutes ago.

In hindsight, the day past quickly. However, during the time I was actually doing nothing but waiting, the minutes seemed to drag forever. Now, I wait outside an ordinary ranch twenty minutes outside of metropolis New York City. The moon is slim, which means it's basically pitch dark as we approach the dark house.

The NYPD, SWAT, and FBI start moving in, while I follow up behind. I stay out of their way, not trained like all of them are. We enter the house, and it is eerily quiet. The wood constantly creaks where you step on it, and I immediately sense that something has to be wrong.

Agent Bolton motions for me to go upstairs with her, and I follow as her flashlight illuminates our path up the winding staircase. We continue to walk through the empty house.

And then music suddenly starts. I jump in fright when I see the source is from the only door we hadn't checked yet. It was slightly cracked open, light spilling into the hallway, as well as an old song that I think my dad liked at one point when I was younger.

Bolton opens the door, it creaks as it opens, and standing there is the face of my nightmares in the flesh. Patrick Monroe.

"Let me see your hands!" Bolton yells. I hear the thudding of boots coming up the staircase behind us as Monroe gives us a chilling smirk.

"Nice to see you, Agent Bolton. And you even have The Siren working with you, I have to say that surprises me a little bit," he raises the needle off the record player that was currently playing.

"Don't move and show me your hands," Bolton demands.

"Well, which is it? You don't want me to move or do you want me to show you my hands? That last statement was a little contradictory," Monroe continues smirking, standing in his spot on the opposite side of the room.

"Patrick Monroe, show me your fucking hands," Bolton demands loudly, and Monroe actually starts laughing.

"You know, you actually sound serious when you yell, Agent Bolton. Oh well, I guess if you want me to," he raises his hands and waves his fingers. Bolton rushes towards him and his smirk widens.

"You know, in hindsight, I'm not really done here. So, goodbye Agent Bolton," he turns to me, his gaze sinking into my stomach and freezing my heart. And with that, he screams.

I fall back, the force of his scream causing me to slide and hit the wall with a painful thud. But Bolton, she got the brunt of it. She literally flies through the air, hitting the wall next to me and not moving, her leg bent at an awkward angle. I look up at Monroe, fear spreading in my heart as he approaches, laughing.

"You didn't think you were the only one with powers, did you Siren?" He asks. He continues to walk towards me, and I scream back. He winces, but that is the only reaction he has. He laughs again.

"Wow, that was cute. But you see, I've been practicing since I was a kid. You have all the power of a preteen," Monroe grabs the top of my hair, pulling it back and pinning me against the wall. He lets out another low scream, and my eardrums explode in pain. I cry out, my body going limp in his hands.

"Now, let's see who I'm dealing with," he reaches for my mask, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His eyes widen in surprise, and then he grins in delight.

"I did not see that coming," he says.

The door behind me thuds open, and I hear as many officers rush into the room. Monroe jumps back, looking at me one last time.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later," Monroe smirks one last bone chilling time, and jumps out the window. I look over at Bolton, who's getting attention from the other officers. She hasn't moved once, and I hear them call for an ambulance.

"Kurt, put your mask back on," Santana whispers in my ear. I gasp, grabbing it and shoving it back on my face. Fear continues to build in my gut as I jump up from the ground, ignoring the pain in my body.

"Kurt, stop moving. You hit the wall really hard, you might have internal injuries," Santana grabs my arm, and I look at her.

"He knows. He knows who I am," I whisper. Santana doesn't say anything, but just starts gently dragging me out of the room and down the stairs. Every step hurts, but the fear in my chest hurts the worst. I keep thinking about the absolute joy in Monroe's eyes when he found out that I'm the Siren, comparing that the the joy in his eyes in high school as he tortured me.

"I have to go, Blaine could be in danger. And you, you have to be careful. Carole, Finn, they're in danger too," I try to pull myself out of Santana's grip, but she tightens her hand on me painfully and keeps dragging me in the direction of an ambulance.

"No Santana, I told you before. I'm not going to a damn hospital," I say loudly, trying to pull away from her again.

"Kurt, shut up and let the medic look over you before you go and do something stupid," Santana demands. She sits me down and the medic starts looking over my body. She asks me something, and I'm aware of answering but my mind is too busy thinking about worst case scenarios now.

I'm finally cleared by the EMT and I jump up, heading quickly towards the cars in the near distance planning on heading immediately back to my dorm and getting Blaine the hell out of there. He won't like it, I'll probably have to compel him to do it, but he'll realize that it's for his safety. He can get on a plane to Ohio tonight, there's usually always one-

"Kurt Hummel where the hell do you think you're going?" Santana demands. I turn around, watching as she walks towards me, her face obviously angry.

"You don't understand, Santana! He knows who I am now. Blaine is in danger, I have to get him back to Ohio," I yell, exasperated that she's keeping me here while Monroe could quite possibly be grabbing Blaine at this moment.

"Blaine is going to be fine, Kurt. Monroe isn't going to have time to get him. But we need to go to the station, I still need to give my report, and you're the only one who was in the room when Agent Bolton got hurt," she tells me. My eyes widen as I remember Bolton, completely forgetting she got hurt because I was freaking out about Blaine.

"Is she okay?" I ask. Santana shakes her head.

"She's alive, but she was unconscious when the paramedics took her to the hospital. Now, let's go back to the station, you can change out of your suit, and then you can go back to Captain Hair Gel, okay?" I sigh, knowing that she's right. I get into her squad car, and she drives me back to the station, where she makes me go over what happened in the room with Monroe and Bolton. She cusses in spanish loudly when I tell her that he has the same powers as I do, and even worst, they were more powerful. My ears still seem to ring from his screams, and for the first time I wonder, how in the hell did he get his powers? How did I get my powers? And why were our powers the same?

Eventually, Santana lets me leave, and I walk out in my hoodie and jeans, taking the subway back towards my dorm room. I head into my building, used to being quiet as it was three in the morning. Exhaustion makes my limbs move slowly, and I walk up the stairs to my floor.

The hallway is empty as I head towards my dorm, and I'm so tired I almost don't see it. My door isn't shut. The fear from earlier immediately returns tenfold as I walk in, looking around. The place is trashed, obvious signs of a struggle. The only light on is my desk lamp, and I quickly rush over to my desk. I always keep it clean, and the single piece of paper makes my heart stop.

_I needed a new canvas. Just like old times, right Kurt?_

_-P.M._

 


	20. Alone

My heart stops. I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack, because I can’t seem to get a breath. My legs give out from under me, but I somehow manage to hold onto the note. It seems like it’s permanently attached to my hand. The room starts spinning, and I manage to text Santana. After that, I don’t really know.

 

Actually, I do know. Blaine’s been kidnapped. He got caught in the crossfire just like I knew he would. Fuck, why did I let myself do this to him? He doesn’t deserve this, I can just imagine what Monroe would be making him do. I can imagine his screams, I used to scream sometimes. Monroe likes it when you scream, he would laugh when I did.

 

Blaine.

 

Oh god. Perfect, beautiful Blaine. It’s all my fault.

 

“Oh my god, Kurt! What happened?” I’m aware of Santana’s voice through the haze in my mind. I hold out the note, staring at the mess. There’s a broken lamp on the floor, I think I stepped through the glass on my way over to my desk.

 

“Fuck, Kurt, come on. We are going to go to the station and everybody is going to find the motherfucker who took Blaine, let’s go,” Santana grabs my arm, but I make no move to get up from the floor. My chest hurts too much to move, my body numb.

 

“It’s all my fault,” I whisper. Santana is silent, even as I keep whispering it. Why not? After all, it’s the truth. If I had just stayed away from Blaine, Monroe wouldn’t have known he could use him to completely break me. Because that obviously was his goal, to torture me. Well, mission fucking accomplished.

 

“Kurt Hummel, get your ass up off the floor and put on that stupid spandex suit before I make you do it at gunpoint. Let’s go!” Santana forces me to stand up, and the haze in my mind is too powerful to shake off. I follow her wordlessly, walking out of my dorm room.

 

Once I get out, it all crashes back into me. Monroe has Blaine. He’s torturing him, probably right now. Oh god.

 

It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fucking fault.

 

I’m aware of Santana calling somebody, I can’t pay attention to her right now. I turn around, looking back at the door. It’s been kicked in. Blaine’s probably terrified right now. I was, Monroe has terrifying down to an art form right now.

 

Art form, how ironic.

 

Santana leads me to her car, and she drives back to the station. I just continue to stare mindlessly out the window. Blaine, where is he right now? It took forever to find Monroe’s house, and now that that is full of police, where is Monroe now? How long will it take to find him? How long will Blaine be tortured by him? How long-

 

“Kurt!” Santana snaps. I look up, oh. We’re at the station. I unbuckle my seatbelt and follow her into the station.

 

She explains what’s happened to some of the federal officers. I can see them looking at me with pity. I don’t care.

 

Blaine. Where are you?

 

Santana grabs my arm, forces me to walk with her into an empty conference room. She shoves me into the wall. The pain of my body colliding with it is nothing compared to the pain in my chest. The pain Blaine must be in right now.

 

“Snap the fuck out of this right now Hummel,” Santana yells. Ow, her voice hurts my head. But it cuts through the fog, the haze is clearing.

 

“Blaine needs you to stay strong right now, Kurt. So snap out of this fucking pity party and get your shit together because Blaine needs you,” Santana continues yelling. She keeps shoving me, pushing me around. Each shove seems to clear up my head, and the reality crashes in on me once again.

 

Blaine. He’s gone. Monroe took him. I need to get him back.

 

Santana moves to shove me again, but I grab her arm before she can do anymore. She smirks momentarily, but quickly becomes serious.

 

“We need your help, Kurt. Now let’s go find that motherfucker,” she tells me. I nod, following her out of the conference room. We enter the special ops room, the one that’s dedicated specifically to the Patrick Monroe case. I enter, and watch as everybody stops working, looking over at me. Everybody in this room knows who I am, knows my relationship with Blaine. They know it’s my fault Blaine is gone.

 

“Let’s find him,” I state, my voice steady and calm even as internally I’m freaking out. I need to find Blaine, and fast.

 

We spend the day pouring over the notes and files from before, trying to go over to see if we’ve missed any place that Monroe might be hiding. When that doesn’t work, we head back over to Monroe’s house to tear it apart, searching for anything that might lead us to another place he would have taken Blaine. I go frantic, searching every nook and cranny of that place, but there is no luck.

 

“Kurt, let’s go. Get some sleep and we will come back in the morning,” Santana tells me. She practically pushes me out the door, but I don’t go back to my dorm room. All I have there is the reminder that Blaine has been taken from me and it’s all my fault.

 

I hit the streets instead. Through my work as The Siren, I’ve managed to get a few criminals to flip on their associates, and they’ve become my informants. I meet up with every one of them, asking them about Monroe and even the other bosses he has working with him, thinking he might go to them to get some help if he needed. But still, nobody knows anything.

 

The sun rises on the second day, and I’m getting more and more desperate. Blaine has been gone for too long, and I know Patrick Monroe. He’s taking his time, drawing it out, getting off on the fear. I keep thinking about how scared Blaine must be, I think about a thousand different scenarios in which Monroe tortures him, each one worse than the last.

 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I snap at an officer who starts to leave. He looks up at me, surprised at the venom in my voice.

 

“I’m just getting a cup of coffee, is that okay, Your Highness?” The officer snaps back. I narrow my eyes at him, feeling my power well up inside me. _Take control of him, make him work, make them all work until they find where Blaine is,_ it practically screams at me. The officer doesn’t wait for a response, just leaves the room and returns back with a cup of coffee from across the street.

 

“Chill the fuck out, Hummel. They’re all just trying to help,” Santana glares at me, but I’m unfazed. I’m getting more and more pissed off with every second that we don’t find Blaine.

 

“Santana, shut up and help me instead of sitting on your ass and snarking at me,” I retort, practically snarling. Santana doesn’t react, just continues to sit there looking over the same file she’s been going over for the past ten minutes.

 

We head back to Monroe’s house a second time, I’m determined he must have left something there. We cross the yellow police line and head inside, splitting up. I follow Santana upstairs, to the room where we found Monroe during the raid.

 

It’s there that we find it, I don’t know how we missed it the first time. It’s a letter, written to Monroe, dated during the time he was in Paris and right before he was about to come here to New York.

 

_P.M._

_I know you’re time in Paris is limited, and would like to invite you to capture unknown territory here in the states. New York has plenty of delicacies for your taste. You should come_ _meet me at my warehouse, I produce numerous replicas from the states there._

_From,_

_The Painter_

 

There is a postcard of the Statue of Liberty with it, an address written on the back. I read it quickly, holding it up for Santana. For the first time since Blaine was taken, I feel hope. Santana looks at me skeptical though.

 

“What’s that look for?” I snap. She doesn’t rise to my anger though, just cautiously places her next words.

 

“I agree with you, I think this is where he’s taken Blaine-”

 

“Then what the hell are we still doing here. We need to get a team together and raid the warehouse,” I try to head towards the door, but Santana steps in front of me.

 

“Kurt, think about it. We poured over this place the first time when Blaine was taken. We didn't find this, and now it’s just sitting here in the open. It’s too easy,” she slowly states. I narrow my eyes at her.

 

“So what? You think just because we missed something the first time it means it’s a trap. Blaine is probably being tortured as we speak, it’s what Monroe is good at. We have to get him back,” I demand. Santana still doesn’t move out of my way.

 

“Kurt, think logically. Monroe planted this, he wants you to find this and charge headfirst into his trap. We have to plan, we need the layout of the building, know where Blaine is going to be. We can’t just go in there guns blazing and expect everything to work out,” I’m about to protest when Santana beats me to it.

 

“Kurt, take a breath. We will go back to the station and make a plan, then, go after him. Tomorrow,” she says.

 

“Tomorrow? Monroe could get bored and kill Blaine by then! We have to go after him, now!” I yell. Santana narrows her eyes.

 

“Shut up, Kurt. Who’s the one who works for the police? Who’s the one who has been trained for shit like this? Monroe isn’t going to kill Blaine, Kurt. You know that. He knows that because he has Blaine, you’re weaker because you’re worried about him. But Kurt, you need to think, you know that what I’m saying is right, you just don’t like it because you’re scared,” Santana rants, finally letting go of her anger at me for the past two days.

 

“Fuck you, Santana. I’m going after him now!” I try to brush past her, but before I know it, she grabs my arm and I feel the snap as handcuffs are attached to my wrist. I look at her like she’s insane as she stands there. She doesn’t move to put the other side of the handcuffs on my wrist, but I know instinctively that these are the same pair that take away my powers somehow.

 

“What the hell?” I yell. She just sighs.

 

“You know that I needed to do that, Kurt. You would have compelled me in the state you’re in. Now, I know you didn’t get any sleep last night. Go get some sleep and we will go raid the warehouse in the morning. When we have a plan,” she tells me. I glare at her, but she stands there unfazed. Finally, I head downstairs, where the other officers look in shock at the handcuffs dangling from one wrist. Santana follows shortly after, and announces that Monroe left behind a letter and the address of a warehouse that belongs to The Painter.

 

The officers head back to the station to start going over a plan, while Santana drives me back to NYU. She drops me off at my dorm building, demanding that I go get some sleep.

 

“You’re going to need it. Blaine needs you at your strongest,” she tells me before she leaves. I walk up the stairs to my dorm, the door is still slightly ajar, yellow police tape making an X in front of it. I tear down the tape and step into my room, where the room is still the same mess from before. With careful hands, I begin picking up up. I sweep the broken glass from the floor, pick up the pictures Blaine had hung so carefully up on the wall and on his desk. I stop when I see a picture of us. It was from one of our more recent dates, during the winter holidays. Blaine had convinced me to go ice skating, and after a while, he had turned his camera and smooshed our faces together. Both our cheeks and nose are bright red, there was snow falling, but we are laughing. I gently stroke my finger over Blaine’s face.

 

“I’m coming for you, Blaine. I promise.” 

 


	21. Found

I don’t sleep well that night. My mind is too filled with images, my memories of the times in high school with Monroe as well as what I imagine he might be doing to Blaine. Each scenario gets worse and worse, until its two am and I’m in a cold sweat thinking that Blaine is dead, he’s dead and it’s all my fault and if I had only stayed away he would be okay.

 

My phone rings, and I quickly answer it. I know it’s not him, I know it is, but for some reason that doesn’t stop the feeling of my heart dropping to my stomach when Santana’s voice sounds instead of Blaine’s.

 

“Hummel, let’s go,” the phone clicks off before I can respond, but I’m already up and grabbing my clothes. I quickly change into my suit, barely remembering to throw on clothes over the skin tight suit before I walk out of my dorm room. I ignore the looks from my classmates, who were standing in the hall looking at the yellow police tape on my door.

 

Outside, there is already a squad car, and I get in to find that Santana’s sitting in the driver seat. She doesn’t say anything, which I’m grateful for. I don’t know what I would be able to say right now, certainly not small talk.

 

We get to the station, which is already chaotic even though it’s only seven am. The FBI takes over assigning everybody tasks for the upcoming raid. I pay attention only to my part, but other than that, I’m thinking about Blaine. It’s been three days now, what could Monroe have done to him in three days? Is he dead? He certainly could have killed him in three days. More likely he’s been tortured, knowing Monroe and his sick mind, he would probably love someone like Blaine. Someone so sweet, and caring, and most of all, innocent. That was his favorite thing about me when we were in high school, he said I was innocent and he enjoyed being able to wash that away. Well, he certainly succeeded in that aspect.

 

“Hey, let’s go,” Santana’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I realize that the meeting is over, everybody is leaving. It’s time.

 

Santana’s partner rides out with us, so I ride in the back with them. It’s weird, being in the back of a squad car but not being in handcuffs. The doors are locked from the outside, like a child lock, so I’m unable to get out when we roll up to a huge empty lot. The building looks run down, obviously abandoned by the state of the appearance. Santana opens the door for me and I want to run in, screaming Blaine’s name. But I can’t do that, there are cops everywhere that wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me in order to stop me from compromising this raid. I think some of them still are pissed to be working with me instead of arresting me. I wonder if they know I’m getting immunity if I help capture Monroe, I’m sure if they did they’d have problems.

 

Oh well, I don’t care. I’m only here to rescue Blaine. And then get Monroe, I’m sick and tired of being scared of him.

 

I follow Santana and Zebrowski up to two agents with FBI on their vests. The black guy is the one in charge of the small unit, and I follow his lead as we head towards the side of the building. We wait around the side, waiting for the signal to go.

 

Gunshots ring out from inside, and we immediately run in. We walk into a hallway, and immediately gunshots start ringing out from one group of guys. I hear someone yell, it’s too loud from the guns to think. I just scream. Everybody drops to the ground, and then I start running. I can hear Santana yelling at me to come back, but I’m not listening. My only priority right now is to get Blaine.

 

I turn down another hallway. There’s more guys down there, and they take one look at me before I see someone raise their gun. I scream again, watching them drop to the ground in pain while holding their ears. I increase the intensity of my scream as I walk towards them.

 

“Where is he?” I demand, watching them all roll on the ground in pain. I narrow my eyes at them, pathetic all of them.

 

“Where is he?” I yell, not caring about anyone overhearing me. I’m sick and tired of waiting, I want to find Blaine and I wanted to find him three days ago.

 

“Main room,” someone finally says, pointing down the hallway to my right. I quickly take off, hearing more gunshots ring out from some kind of gun battle. I wonder how Santana is doing, I hope she’s alright. I probably shouldn’t have left her.

 

But then I round the corner and I see Blaine. He sitting in a chair, head slumped forward and eyes closed. His clothes are ripped and torn, but I don’t see any blood. He actually looks unharmed.

 

“Blaine,” I gasp, stepping forward just to fall back on my ass as I hear another scream. I look up to see Monroe standing in the corner of the room, not having seen him because of my focus on Blaine. I hear Blaine let out a groan of pain, probably from hearing Monroe scream.

 

“You’re going to regret taking him, Monroe,” I growl, getting up off the ground and walking towards him. Monroe laughs, and I notice Blaine’s waking up now.

 

“Kurt?” He murmurs, shock in his voice. I want to turn to him, to grab him and take him away from here, but I know if I did Monroe would just follow and try to take him again. That’s what he does, he doesn’t just torture physically, he tortures mentally.

 

“But we had so much fun these past three days, didn’t we Blaine?” Monroe grins, looking over at Blaine. I take the opportunity to scream, watching Monroe stagger back. I watch Blaine wince, crap. I have to finish this quick, I don’t know what prolonged screaming will do to his ears.

 

“That all you got? Damn, Hummel, you really don’t understand how powerful you can be,” he laughs. I move to try and get to Monroe, to punch him or something, but he screams loudly before I can. I groan as the scream hurts even me. Blaine yells out, and I try to get to him. Monroe stops, and I launch myself towards Blaine. His ears are bleeding from the force of that last scream. I got to get him out of here.

 

“I have to say, Kurt. I was shocked when I discovered that you were the famous New York Siren. After all, everything I’d heard about the guy was he was heroic and brave and selfless. And well, we both know that’s not true. The boy I knew in high school certainly wasn’t any of those things,” Monroe grins, walking towards Blaine and me. I step in front of Blaine, my body might help block some of the soundwaves if he starts screaming again.

  
“Tell me, do you still have the scars?” Monroe asks.

 

“What the hell do you want?” I demand. Monroe shrugs, pretending to think.

 

“Oh, you know. Money always helps,” he chuckles. Then he becomes serious. “I want you to realize that you’ll always just be that scared little boy who’d let me cut him up.” He grins, and I just glare at him.

 

The door on the side bangs open and shots immediately begin firing. I look at the shooters, seeing them all wearing NYPD or FBI vests. Monroe screams loudly again, and all the police drop to the floor. I just wince as I watch Monroe dart out the back door. With one last glance at Blaine, who looks up at me, I take off after him.

 

I chase him through the warehouse. I don’t know where the other goons Monroe had in the warehouse with him went, but I don’t run into any of them as I run after him.

 

I corner him into a garage, watching as he runs towards a black Lamborghini.

 

“Monroe!” I yell out. He turns a smirks as he stops by the car. I open my mouth to scream, but he beats me to it. I fall to the ground, rolling towards the opposite wall as he continues screaming. He finally stops and I get up, sprinting towards him but it’s too late. The car speeds up and disappears.

 

“Fuck!” I yell out, pissed off at letting him escape. My head is ringing painfully, my back hurts where I landed from his last scream, and my throat hurts from screaming myself, which is a first. I look at the distance, unable to see the car anymore from how fast he sped away, and then I remember.

 

Blaine.

 

I turn around and sprint back the way I came, finally arriving in the room that he was in. Santana’s there, helping him stand up. Tears well up as I see him looking so weak, having to lean on Santana as they walk outside.

 

“Blaine,” I call out, causing both of them to turn around. I run towards Blaine, and grab him just as he reaches out for me. I cry as I hold him, feeling him bury his face in my neck, feeling the wet tears on my skin from his tears. He holds me just as tight as I hold him, both of us crying. I finally pull back to look at him.

 

“Are you hurt?” I ask. He shakes his head quickly.

 

“No, he didn’t do anything to me. I’m okay,” he says. I nod, pulling him into another hug again, not wanting to let go for as long as possible.

 

“Kurt, we have to get him out to the EMTs, they gotta check him over to make sure he’s fine,” Santana softly tells me. I nod, letting Blaine lean on me as I lead him outside towards the ambulance. They berate me at first for not waiting for them to load him on a stretcher, but I couldn’t care less what they think. They check him over, and it takes a while. But eventually they say he’s fine, just dehydrated. They want to take him to the hospital to get him fluids and rest overnight, but Blaine waves them off.

 

“I just want to go back home,” he tells them. They grudgingly accept, and he and I crawl into the back of Santana’s squad car. Her partner takes longer to find, but Santana eventually finds him and drives us back to campus. I take the time that she’s searching for Zebrowski to throw on my hoodie and sweats over the suit. I take off my mask and put it away, knowing Zebrowski had to have figured my identity out by now.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Santana asks Blaine as she pulls up outside our dorm building. He nods, grabbing my hand and squeezing.

 

“I will be. Thank you,” he tells her. She looks back at me, and I nod in answer to her silent question. Of course I’ll take care of him. She opens the car door, and Blaine gets out with me following close behind. Luckily there aren’t many people walking around, a lot of them are probably in classes. Blaine and I head back up to our room, and I’m thankful that I remembered to clean up because Blaine looks around the room in surprise, as if he was expecting it to still be a mess.

 

“Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll take one after you,” I tell him. He nods, and I can tell he’s freaking out over what has happened. I pull him into another embrace as I feel him start crying again.

 

“I got you, you’re safe, Blaine. I’m here,” I whisper, rubbing circles on his back as he cries. Because of his dehydration and crying earlier, he doesn’t cry a lot but he still shakes like he is.

 

“Hey,” I pull back, needing him to look at me, “you’re okay. I promise he’s never going to come after you again.” I kiss his forehead, like my mother would do to me when I was little and I was upset. It always used to make me feel better.

 

“Now, You go take a shower. Take as long as you need, I’m not going anywhere,” I say. He nods, and I watch him close the door to the bathroom. When he’s behind the closed door, I let out a sigh.

 

“He’s here. He’s here and he’s okay,” I whisper, trying to reassure myself that everything is fine. Even as my stomach clenches painfully and I feel like I want to throw up.

 

Blaine takes longer than I thought, but he eventually walks out of the still steaming bathroom I can’t help but smile when I see there are no cuts, no scars, nothing that signals Monroe tortured him like he used to do to me.

 

“I’m going to go take a quick shower. I’ll be out soon,” I tell him. He nods, and I step into the bathroom. It smells like his body wash, and I can’t help but breathe the scent in deep.

 

He’s okay. Monroe doesn’t have him anymore. He’s here.

 

I take a quick shower, needing to scrub every inch of the last 72 hours off my body. I end up scrubbing so hard my skin turns red. But I have to get out, I have to hold Blaine and remind myself that he’s going to be okay. Every minute he’s not in my sight just reminds me of the three days he was gone.

 

I get out and see Blaine in my bed, under all my covers. He’s curled himself into a ball, and instead of getting dressed I kneel in front of him. I brush a hand through his damp curls, both of us watching each other in silence.

 

“Before you go to sleep, will you drink some water? They said you needed to drink something,” I whisper. He nods, and I grab a water bottle from our mini fridge. I quickly change into sweats and a tshirt, crawling over Blaine to lay behind him. He’s drinking from little sips, and eventually puts the cap back once he’s drunk half the water bottle.

 

“Come here,” I tell him. He lays down on the pillow, and I wrap myself around him. I feel him grab my hand, lace our fingers together and kiss the back of my hand.

 

“I love you,” I hear him whisper. I quickly inhale, waiting for him to say something else. _I love you but I have to leave, it’s your fault I was taken._ But he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask me to respond. He just lays there, breathing normally.

 

“I love you too,” I whisper back. He doesn’t say anything, but by now I don’t expect him to. He just moves slightly closer to me, and as his breaths even out, he falls asleep. 

 


	22. For One Night

A couple weeks pass, both Blaine and I go back to classes, struggle to catch up while struggling to get over the fact that Patrick Monroe is still out there. He's still out there and every night I always think that maybe this is it. This is the last night I'll have with Blaine before Monroe takes him again and each time I wake up in a cold sweat, shaking. And I'm not the only one with the nightmares.

 

The first night, after we had just rescued Blaine, I wasn't even aware that it was a nightmare. I shake when I wake up from my nightmares, but Blaine doesn't do that. He whimpers, so softly that you don't know where the noise is coming from. And when he wakes up, he freezes. He doesn't move, if it wasn't for the whimpers I'd never know that he was having a nightmare. And so, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I could barely hear the whimpers. But when I realized they were coming from the boy in my airs, I just held him tighter against my body and cried.

 

The second night, we fell asleep in opposite beds again. College dorm beds aren't really meant to have two people laying on the bed. But when I woke up in the middle of the night again, I heard the whimpers. I quietly got up and walked over to Blaine's bed, crawling next to him. He obviously woke up from the movement of the bed, but instead of saying anything, he just scooted over to make room for me on the little bed and wrapped his arms around me.

 

A week later, the nightmares were still happening, from both of us. We don't talk about them, we probably should. At least admit that they were happening, it's probably some sort of unhealthy that we aren't. Instead, whenever one of us wakes up, if we aren't already sleeping in the same bed, we climb into the other's bed. Of course, that usually results in waking the other up, but neither of us has said anything about it. We wake up in the morning and go about the day like nothing is happening.

 

At night, I search for Monroe. I search everywhere I can think of, following leads that probably aren't even leads. When I don't have class, I'm at the precinct with Santana and various FBI agents, all of us work hard to find where Monroe could have gone this time. Two weeks after rescuing Blaine, there is no sightings of Monroe, no new art thefts, no new information. Yesterday, I heard one of the officers make the suggestion that they may have moved on to their next city. I'm scared that they are right, because if that's true, I have no clue where Monroe would have gone and if he's done with me. From past experiences with him, he has some sort of sick obsession with me, so I doubt that he's done torturing me.

 

Another thing that bothers me is where the hell did he get his powers? And how were they so powerful? We are the same age, he's just a couple months older than me from his file, so why are his powers more powerful than mine? Although, I don't know if he can enchant like I can. His scream seems like the only thing he can do, but obviously I don't know. That's the thing that pisses me off the most, not knowing. I don't know where he is. I don't know how he got his powers. I don't know how I got my powers. I don't know what his obsession with me is. I don't know shit, and it pisses me off the more I think about it.

 

"We'll find him, Kurt," Santana tries to reassure me before I leave. I sigh, grabbing my jacket and putting it on.

 

"Before or after he hurts somebody else?" I ask her. She stays silent, not knowing the answer to that. I sigh loudly, not expecting an answer anyways.

 

"That's what I thought," I mumble, leaving the precinct and catching the subway back to campus. I walk into my empty dorm room, momentarily glancing at Blaine's side of the room. I feel the familiar race of fear at the empty room, before I make myself remember that he has a class right now and he's fine. My phone vibrates with an incoming text message, and I grab it.

 

_After my class, are you free?_ Blaine texts. I smile, looking at my desk. I have two different papers that are due soon, as well as a chapter I have to read and take notes on.

 

_Yeah, I'm free, at least until later tonight. What do you have in mind?_ I ask him.

 

_You'll see. ;)_ I roll my eyes at his use of emoticons, but can't help the smile that comes. I missed this, the stress that comes with trying to find Monroe makes me think I'm forgetting the fact that Blaine is my boyfriend, and he deserves to be treated as such. Especially after he was kidnapped, I've been so scared about losing him, I've been so busy trying to track down Monroe that I feel like I might have been ignoring him a little lately. Sure, we always manage to fall asleep in each other's beds, but other than that, I don't think we've really spent much time together these past couple week.

 

I get started on that chapter I have to read, trying to focus on the notes I need to take before Blaine gets back. I'll work on the papers later, and luckily, I manage to finish up the notes just as Blaine walks into the room. I spin around in my chair when I hear the door open, watching as he walks in with a large smile on his face. It makes me grin as I see it, my heart doing that familiar flutter and I momentarily beat myself up for ignoring the best thing that's ever happened to me.

 

"We are going out to dinner," Blaine announces when he notices I'm watching him. He sets his book bag on the floor against his bed, and then stands in front of me. He looks at my desk, obviously seeing the notebook and textbook spread out on top of it, and his smile drops.

 

"Unless you have to do homework," he says. I quickly grab his hands, standing up and pulling him towards me.

 

"I don't. I'm going out to dinner with you," I reassure him. Blaine smiles, and I can't help myself from leaning down and kissing him. I fight back the sigh of contentment that wants to escape me, choosing instead to pull him in closer towards me until our bodies are pressed up against each other. Something must have seriously been wrong with me these past couple weeks to let myself stop doing this.

 

"We could always order pizza and stay here," I whisper when I have to pull away, choosing instead to let myself start kissing down his jawline. I feel Blaine's groan as well as hear it, but instead of letting me continue to reach up and untie his bowtie from his neck, he takes a step back.

 

"I already made reservations," he protests. I fight back the pout I want to give him, but only just. Instead, I smile and grab my coat from my closet.

 

"Let's go then," I tell him. He grins, and immediately grabs my hand and starts pulling me out the door before I even have my jacket on all the way. I laugh, letting him pull me out of the dorm building, before slowing our pace. I lace our fingers together as we walk towards the subway, getting onto the train. It's just crowded enough to where I have to step closer to Blaine than I normally would in public, and I take delight in looking down and watching Blaine's eyes turn a darker shade than normal.

 

We get to the restaurant after that, the same french place that we went on our first date. I smile at the memories, and turn to Blaine. I pull him aside from the door, walking towards the building walls so we aren't in the middle of the sidewalk. He looks up at me curious about why I stopped us.

 

"I'm sorry I've been so busy these past couple weeks," I tell him, needing to let him know before we continue the night.

 

"It's fine, Kurt," Blaine immediately starts to say, but I interrupt him, not wanting to get away with him just brushing it off like it means nothing.

 

"No, it's not. I feel like I haven't seen anything of you these past couple weeks and it's all my fault. I've been so focused on finding Monroe that I've been ignoring you. You don't deserve that, Blaine," I say. Blaine smiles, and he brings our linked hands up and kisses the back of my hand, smiling up at me.

 

"Not that you need it, but I forgive you," he says.

 

"I love you," I smile. It's only the second time that I've said it to him, the first two weeks ago when both of our emotions were all over the place, having just rescued him from Monroe. I've been too scared to say it over these past two weeks, too scared that he just said it because I was there to rescue him, that he didn't really mean it. But I'm done being scared around him, I'm scared enough when it comes to Monroe, I don't need to be scared around Blaine. And the smile that takes over Blaine's face when I say it almost makes it all worth it.

 

"I love you too," Blaine says. My grin widens at his words, and he steps back, tugging me towards the doors to the restaurant.

 

"Now, let's go. I'm starving," he tells me. I smile, happily letting him drag me inside the restaurant because I'm definitely starving too. We spend the night laughing and talking, and I actually forget for a while about the fact Monroe's still out there somewhere. I forget about my fears, and I let Blaine help me forget about everything other than him.

 

We walk quickly back to our dorm room after dinner, the cold winter air compelling us to get to our heated dorm room as fast as possible. Inside, despite the fact that I should have been out on the streets an hour ago, Blaine is doing a very good job of making me forget by kissing the fight right out of me.

 

Somehow, we had maneuvered ourselves to laying on my bed, Blaine on top of me. I don't remember falling into bed, and I certainly don't remember Blaine crawling on top of me, but I was not complaining as he started to trail kisses down my jawline and begins sucking on the skin behind my ear.

 

"Blaine, we should stop, I need to go," I manage to say, knowing I really should get out onto the streets, even though internally I know that tonight will be the same as every other night. Just another night of nothing, no leads, no Monroe, and no satisfaction.

 

"Can you be Kurt for tonight?" Blaine asks, and I'm too distracted by the feeling of his lips to understand his question. I manage to gently push him back, and he looks down at me with eyes wide open, more vulnerable than I remember them ever being.

 

"New York can survive without it's superhero for one night," he whispers, and I watch as he reaches his hand up and brushes a strand of hair that has fallen onto my forehead out of the way. 

 

"Can you just be Kurt for tonight? You're just Kurt, and I'm just Blaine, and we're just two people in love with each other?" He continues. I reach up and cup his cheek with one of my hands, looking at those eyes that I've always been able to read so well. They were filled with vulnerability, he was here opening his heart to me, something I know he doesn't do to anybody. I know it was stupid, I know that I shouldn't have resisted, but looking into those eyes, I can't think of anything I needed to say other than that one word.

 

"Okay."

 


	23. Promises

Monroe hasn’t left New York. That night, I was out on the streets again, when I hear another robbery happening, this time at a small gallery in Manhattan. I was confused, thinking that the robbery couldn’t be connected to Monroe, the gallery didn’t have any art at the value Monroe’s organization usually hits. So at first, I went in thinking it was just another small time thug, but I was far from the truth.

 

Capturing the robber was easy, I just compelled him to surrender and the police took him away. It wasn’t until later that Santana informs me he was hired by The Employer, who was still operating under the assumption that we had no idea who Monroe was.

 

Blaine’s nightmares still occur, as well as mine. One night, we had both fallen asleep in our separate beds. I woke up to the feeling of Blaine crawling into my bed, the sure sign that he woke from his own nightmare. I wrap my arms around him tightly, feeling him tense at my movement, before relaxing into my tight embrace. I sigh, burying my face into his neck as we lay there.

 

“Hey Blaine?” I speak up, breaking the silence. Blaine jumps slightly at my voice, but quickly relaxes once again.

 

“Yeah?” He responds, and I bite my lip nervously, not knowing if he wants to talk at all, especially because it’s not like I’ve exactly been forthcoming with my own problems.

 

“What are they about?” I ask.

 

“What are what about?” He whispers, even though I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m asking by the way he tenses up slightly in my arms. Not enough to visibly see, but enough to wear I can feel his muscles tighten, almost as if he’s going to crawl out of bed and return to his own. I tighten my own arms around him slightly, as if that will keep him from moving.

 

“The nightmares,” I whisper, and there’s a palpable pause before Blaine starts talking.

 

“They’re not all the same. They start the same way though,” he says. “I wake up in that warehouse. I’m always tied to the chair, and Monroe is in front of me, talking,” he pauses again, and I squeeze my arms around him in solidarity.

 

“That’s where they start to vary. Sometimes, he tells me about what he did to you, how he tortured you and suddenly you’re there and he’s making you hurt yourself again and I can only watch,” I inhale sharply at the mention of the past torture Monroe inflicted on me, my arms tightening around Blaine unconsciously until I feel him gently running his fingers up and down my forearms until I loosen my grip.

 

“Sometimes you show up, and Monroe takes you instead. He drags you away and I’m left there, all alone not knowing where you are and you never come back,” he continues. I lean down and kiss the skin of his neck, feeling his pulse under my lips as I fight back the tears at the sound of fear in his voice. I’m regretting ever bring up this topic, and I’m about to speak up when Blaine starts again.

 

“The worst ones are the ones like I had tonight. You and Monroe fight in front of me, and the method of it usually changes, but every time, Monroe kills you. Sometimes it’s with a gun, sometimes a knife, sometimes he just keeps screaming at you. And I know that you aren’t as affected by his screams as I am, but in my nightmares that doesn’t matter. But they always end up with you dead in front of me. Those are the ones that scare me the most,” he reaches up to wipe at his cheeks, and I realize that he’s crying. He’s so scared of these nightmares that he’s crying from them, and just that thought makes me want to cry too.

 

“I’m so sorry, Blaine,” I whisper, wanting so bad to do something to ease his fear.

 

“What about you?” Blaine speaks up, snapping me out of my thoughts.

 

“My nightmares?” I ask.

 

“Yeah,” he confirms. I sigh, knowing he’d probably ask me after I asked him about his.

 

“Like you, they vary. They used to just be about high school, about the times he’d compel me, torture me. His laugh was the worst part of it all. He enjoyed what he did to me, he’d just laugh when I’d look at him terrified,” I tell him, feeling Blaine reach up and grab my hand in his, squeezing it tightly for a couple seconds before letting go.

 

“But lately, they’ve changed. Instead of me, it’s you he tortures. He ties me up in that chair in the warehouse, and forces me to watch as he compels you to hurt yourself. Sometimes it just ends with him torturing you. But sometimes, he makes you bleed so much, you die and there’s nothing I can do because I can’t get out of the ropes. I can’t help you and that’s what scares me the most. I can’t help you and I know it’s all my fault you were ever there in the first place,” I continue. I bury my face in Blaine’s neck, breathing deeply as I hold him, just needing to reassure myself that he’s here and he’s never going to go anywhere again because I won’t let Monroe take him again. Still, I can’t help but think about the fact that his nightmares are my fault. If I hadn’t let Monroe discover my identity, he would never have found out about Blaine, and Blaine wouldn’t have been taken.

 

“What if I could help, Blaine? Would you let me?” I ask quietly. Blaine is silent for a minute.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks.

 

“I could make you forget--”

 

“No,” he quickly interrupts me, speaking so fast it confuses me, because if it were me, I wouldn’t want to remember all the things that Monroe did to me.

 

“What do you mean? I could make you forget Monroe kidnapping you, and then you wouldn’t have these nightmares,” I tell him.

 

“I don’t care, Kurt,” suddenly Blaine sounds so harsh that I think he’s angry at me. “I don’t want to forget.”

 

“But why? It’s my fault you have these nightmares, and if I can do something to fix it, I want to,” I continue, trying to get him to understand that he doesn’t have to have these nightmares, that I can make him forget and then he won’t be this scared at night anymore.

 

“It’s not your fault, Kurt. It’s Monroe’s fault, and I don’t care about the nightmares. Sure, they suck now, but after a while they’ll go away. Promise me you’ll never use your powers on me,” Blaine asks.

 

“But I just don’t understand--”

 

“Kurt, promise me,” Blaine demands, and I sigh.

 

“I promise,” I tell him. I wait until Blaine seems to relax in my arms, the same thought swirling in my mind at his fear of me using my powers on him to make him forget.

 

“Blaine? Are you, are you scared of my powers?” I ask softly, unable to think of anything else at Blaine’s harsh demand.

 

“No! No of course I’m not,” he quickly reassures, twisting around in my arms until he’s facing me. He reaches up and holds a hand to my cheek, looking at me so intently that I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

 

“I promise, I’m not afraid of your powers. I just never want to forget the relief I felt when I saw you enter that warehouse. I don’t want to forget telling you ‘I love you’ for the first time. If you made me forget about Monroe taking me, those are the things I’d forget. I don’t want to forget a single second of my life with you in it,” he whispers. I sigh, relief filling me as I listen to him reassure me he’s not scared of my powers. I lean down, resting my forehead on his as I close my eyes.

 

“I love you,” I whisper, feeling Blaine move and his lips are suddenly on mine kissing me with everything he’s got.

 

“I love you too,” he says as he pulls away. I smile as he kisses me one more time, turning around so he’s facing away from me again. This time, it’s him who grabs my arms and wraps them around him, and I smile against the top of his head, his curls tickling my face as I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of him next to me.

 


	24. Mind Games and Obsessions

February comes and goes, and as the calendar flips to March, the feeling of dejectment increases with each passing day that Monroe continues to be out there. Agent Bolton returns back to duty, getting cleared after the numerous fractures she suffered from getting thrown full force into a solid wall from Monroe’s scream. The doctors said it was a miracle that she survived, the damage to her body resembled the damage of falling from roughly 30 feet. She survived, but not without a lot of internal injuries.

 

We know Monroe is still in New York, and Bolton earlier that day had questions about why he’s sticking around. She’s right, according to his history, he should have been gone months ago, he never stays in one place for this long, it’s been almost seven months. I finally told her the truth about my history with Monroe, how he tortured me throughout high school using his powers. She was shocked, but she quickly agreed with me that I was the reason he was still in New York. It made sense, he took Blaine when he discovered that I was The Siren and he was connected to me. He was the only person that I had let into my life other than Santana out here in New York, he made the most sense to take.

 

But the question still remains, why is he so obsessed with torturing me?

 

It wasn’t until one snowy, March night that I got my answer. And it certainly wasn’t the answer that I was expecting.

 

It was early in the night, I had just started walking the streets as The Siren. While Monroe’s organization was certainly on the top of everybody’s list, there were still other criminal activities going on in New York, there were still people who needed The Siren, and I couldn’t let them down because I’m too focused on catching Monroe.

 

I had just finished helping out a mugging victim when I hear it. The scream. It sounds so much like my own, but I knew immediately that it was Monroe. I follow the sound, it was like a beacon. I find Monroe standing in an alley, screaming the ears off of a girl that couldn’t be much older than either of us.

 

“Let her go, Monroe,” I demand. Monroe stops screaming, and my own ears are thankful for that fact. He grins at me, and then looks down at the girl, who’s staring up at him in fear from her position on the ground.

 

“Run,” I tell her. She doesn’t waste any time before scrambling off the ground and running out of the alleyway. I don’t watch her go, too intent on watching Monroe. He smirks as he looks at me, I don’t know why he’s so confident. He’s trapped himself against the building behind him, there’s no way for him to escape.

 

“What the hell do you want, Monroe?” I demand, narrowing my eyes as I stare at his smirking face. He shrugs, leaning back against the wall at his back without a care in the world.

 

“I just want to talk, Kurt. It’s been awhile, not counting those brief encounters,” he says. I watch him, wondering when I’m going to be able to make my move and attempt to apprehend him. But there’s a problem, I don’t have any of those special power stopping handcuffs that Bolton has. And there’s too much distance between us, if I make a move towards him, he’d automatically respond with a scream. And his screams are so much more powerful than my own, if he screamed at me full force, I have no doubt I’d end up flying into the street behind me.

 

“Yeah, right. Why don’t you stop playing games and tell me what you really want, Patrick,” I snap. If anything, his grin just gets wider, and even in the dark, those dark eyes seem to sparkle with some kind of sick glee.

 

“How’s Blaine? Obviously I’m not gay, but you know, I could see the appeal,” at the mention of Blaine’s name, anger quickly boils inside of me and it takes everything in my power not to just scream at him with everything I’ve got.

 

“Shut your fucking mouth, Monroe,” I snap, watching as he laughs at my outburst.

 

“Kurt, Kurt, Kurt,” Monroe shakes his head, looking back up and grinning as he continues to speak.

 

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk to family like that?”

 

What the fuck? What the hell is he talking about? Obviously my confusion is clear on my face because Monroe laughs again.

 

“You don’t know? Haven’t you ever wondered why we have the same powers?” He asks, and he actually looks ecstatic at the fact that I have no idea what he’s talking about.

 

“Stop playing games, Monroe. What the hell are you talking about,” I snap, watching as he laughs again.

 

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you about her powers?” He asks, and I feel the familiar anger well up inside me as he mentions my family, this time my mother.

 

“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask before I can stop myself. This can’t be true, if it was, my dad would have told me about it. My mother didn’t have powers, did she?

 

Why did I have powers?

 

“You really have no fucking clue, do you?” Monroe laughs in delight, stepping off the wall he was leaning against and starts to walk forwards. I snap myself out of whatever haze he put me in, stepping backwards as he starts coming forwards.

 

“Your mom and my dad are siblings. The whole family has these powers, you really didn’t think that you were the only one, right?” Monroe tells me. I shake my head. No, this can’t be true. He has to be lying.

 

“My mother was an only child,” I snap back, “my dad told me so.”

 

“Well obviously either your dad lied, or your mom did. Because, believe me, after I left Ohio and my grandfather told me about the daughter he had, about the shame she brought on the family when she ran off with a mechanic of all people, I didn’t believe it. So imagine my surprise when I find a picture of this mysterious aunt, and it’s the exact same woman my old best friend had in _his_ room,” he states. I continue to look at him, disbelieving as he walks forwards until he’s standing directly in front of me, staring down with those dark blue eyes. Those eyes that haunted my nightmares, those eyes that according to him, were family.

 

“Go to hell,” I move to push him away, only to find out that he’s pinned my arms. Crap, he compelled me during that _stupid_ story. That’s what it has to be, a story.

 

Monroe smirks as he looks down at me, trapped by his own voice. This is just how I remember him starting off in high school, he’d compel me and keep me pinned, just like this. Then, it escalated, and instead of just making me scared, he made me hurt myself.

 

No, not again. I have powers now, he’s not going to control me ever again.

 

Monroe is still talking, going on about his family that somehow must be connected to mine, and I know that my screams aren’t nearly as powerful as his are, but this compulsion, it’s different. It seems weaker than I remember.

 

Only one way to find out.

 

I sing out a couple lyrics of the first random song that pops into my head. Monroe looks at me, curious, until I feel it. His hold on me is disappearing, and I’m gaining control of him. It’s not nearly as powerful as it usually is, I can feel his mind fighting back against mine, and I know it won’t be long until he breaks the hold I have on him. Monroe is about to scream, when I turn and run out of the alley.

 

I keep running for several blocks until I finally think it’s safe to slow down. And when I do, that’s when Monroe’s words finally manage to catch up to me.

 

We’re family? How is that possible?

 

I think back to my questions to my dad about my mother, how adamant he was that her family wasn’t around anymore. He said to not even go looking for them, he wouldn’t even give me her maiden name to look it up. I remember how scared he was when he discovered my powers, and at first, I thought he was just scared of me.

 

But thinking back on it now, was he really? Or was he scared of something else? Something like Monroe?

 

My head is pounding by the time I get back to campus, and I honestly don’t know how it is that I don’t run into anybody on my way up to my dorm room, because I’m still wearing my Siren suit when I walk in, shocking Blaine.

 

“Kurt? Are you okay?” He asks, and I just look up at him, confused and scared and frustrated and all different kinds of emotions.

 

“No,” I tell him, and I sink to the ground, just completely numb. Blaine abandons his work on his desk as he quickly runs over to me, sitting on the ground and I feel his arms pulling me into his body.

 

“He’s my cousin,” I whisper softly, under my breath and I’m fairly certain Blaine doesn’t even hear me.

 

“What?” He states.

 

“He’s my cousin,” I whisper again, the words finally sinking in and holy crap, Patrick Monroe is my cousin. His father is my mother’s brother, and my dad either didn’t know or lied to me.

 

Did he know? Did he know that I would get these powers?

 

Blaine tenses next to me, and I remember that he’s still in the room while I’m having this revelation.

 

“Are you--are you sure?” Blaine asks. For the first time since coming into the room, I look at him.

 

“I don't know,” I tell him honestly. Blaine looks at me in silence, not knowing what to say. Which is good, because _I_ don’t know what to say.

 

At this point, I don’t know what to believe. My dad never talked about my mom’s family voluntarily. All he’d ever say about the topic when I asked was that she was an only child and her parents were dead. She didn’t have any living relatives, it was just the three of us, and then later, the two of us.

 

But despite everything telling me that Monroe has to be lying, everything chastising me for believing a murderer over my own father, there’s just something that strikes me as odd. Why would he lie? Okay, probably to fuck with my mind, but that’s the thing. When I compel people, I open their minds to me just a little bit. It depends on the level of compulsion, and because of Monroe’s power I had to lay it on pretty thick in order to get that level of control that I could escape. And while I was in his mind, I could tell he was pissed at me taking control. But it wasn’t a pissed off reaction I expected, it reminded me of the petty arguments i used to get into with Finn. It reminded me of the arguments I used to have with family.

 

Fuck, he’s screwing with my mind. I don’t know what to believe anymore.

 

“I don’t know what to do? He might be lying, but _I don’t know,_ ” I say out loud before I can think about it.

 

“Why don’t you call Agent Bolton? She works for the FBI they might be able to help out,” Blaine suggests. I nod, grabbing my phone and searching through my contacts for her cell phone number.

 

“Wait, you’re calling her now?” Blaine asks. I find her contact info and press dial, holding the phone up to my ear.

 

“I have to know. I have to know if he was telling the truth,” I tell him. Blaine nods, and grabs my hand just as Bolton answer the phone.

 

“Special Agent Bolton,” she answers the phone.

 

“Bolton, it’s me, Kurt,” I tell her.

 

“Kurt? Why are you calling?” She asks, and I can hear the surprise in her voice. Which is probably understandable, I’ve never called her before, and I probably could wait until tomorrow to see her, but I can’t wait. I have to know if Monroe is just playing more mind games on me or if it’s true.

 

“How far back into Monroe’s life did we go into?” I ask. She’s silent for a couple moments, and I faintly hear the sound of papers flipping through each other.

 

“Um, pretty much into his childhood. The family is originally from France, you obviously know about when he came to the states. He dropped off the face of the Earth when his parents died a couple years ago. Why?” She asks.

 

“What about relatives?”

 

“Why do you want to know about relatives?”

 

“Just, does he have any relatives?” I ignore her question, and luckily Bolton drops it. I hear her searching through multiple files again.

 

“Not many. His grandparents died shortly after he came back to France. Um, he has an aunt, but she disappeared from record before he was born. We don’t have much on her, just a birthdate and name,” at the mention of an aunt, the blood in my ears starts pounding so loudly I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear her next answer.

 

“What’s the aunt’s name?” I ask.

 

“Um, it’s here somewhere,” I hear Bolton shuffling through files, and Blaine squeezes my hand tightly.

 

“Here it is. Her name was Elizabeth Monroe.”

 


	25. What Had To Be Done

Elizabeth Monroe. Elizabeth Hummel. Oh my god. Patrick Monroe, the sick son of a bitch who is my personal demon, the demon I try to fight off every single day, the demon who I always find in the people I fight off, we share the same blood.

 

“Kurt? Kurt are you still there?” The sound of Agent Bolton’s voice seems distant, faint. I can see Blaine reach down and grab the phone from the floor. Oh yeah, I dropped it in my shock. Blaine says something to her, and then hangs up the phone.

 

“Kurt, are you okay?” Blaine asks. I blink, trying to make some sort of sense of all the thoughts flickering through my mind.

 

I can’t believe my dad lied to me like that. Or did my mom never tell him in the first place? Did she have powers? According to Monroe she must have, he said that all of the family has the same powers. Did all the family use them for terrible reasons like Monroe does?

 

Am I the only one who uses mine for the good of other people?

 

“Kurt, talk to me,” Blaine grabs my hand, and I look over at him. I open my mouth, trying to say something before shutting it again.

 

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him. He stands up, reaching his hand down to me. Wordlessly, I grab it and he pulls us off the floor, walking the two of us over to his bed on the far side of the room.

 

“Okay, we don’t have to talk. Just lay here with me, alright?” He says softly. I nod, letting him pull me down onto the bed with him. He wraps his arms tightly around me, and I feel him lay a kiss on the top of my head.

 

Monroe and I are family. For the past three years, I thought my family was dead, but now, I find out that I have a new family. A family that consists of a sick, torturing bastard. Huh, I wonder if there’s some person somewhere laughing about this.

 

I don’t get much sleep that night. Everytime I close my eyes, I’m back in that alley with Monroe.

 

Agent Bolton asks me what happened last night the second I walked into the police office the next day. I tell her I was chasing some theory and it didn’t work out. Thankfully, she drops it, but I can tell Santana won’t by the look she sends my way.

 

Luckily, I manage to escape her obvious attempts to stop me and ask what’s going on. I sneak out the side door, yes, I’m that desperate to avoid her. I quickly get onto the train to head back to campus, and my phone starts ringing about five minutes after I leave. I look at the caller ID, it’s Santana. I press ignore, knowing that she just wants to talk about whatever the hell I lied to Bolton about, and at the moment, I don’t have any desire to talk to her about the fact Monroe and I are related. She calls me a couple more times, leaves some voicemails that probably get progressively angrier and filled with more Spanish cuss words than not, but she eventually stops calling when she realizes that I’m just going to keep ignoring her call.

 

I walk into our dorm, glancing over at Blaine’s side like I always do, even though I know he’s in class right now. I feel my back pocket vibrating again, and I sigh, grabbing it and I’m about to hang up when I see the caller ID. It’s not Santana.

 

“Hello?” I answer.

 

“Hey, cuz. What’s up?” Monroe’s voice sounds through the phone. I stop in my tracks.

 

“What the hell do you want, Monroe?” I snap.

 

“You never told me that Blaine’s in pre-med. He must be a good student, I got so bored I had to leave that class. How does he even pay attention in there? That professor just drones on and on and on,” Monroe laughs, and my heart speeds up when he mentions Blaine. Don’t freak out, Hummel. He’s trying to fuck with your mind, he probably found out about Blaine’s major during the three days he kidnapped him. But then why the hell did he mention class?

 

“Cut the crap, Monroe,” I’m this close to just hanging up on him, but as much as I just want to hang up, I’m too curious about why he’s calling me, and how the hell he even got my number.

 

“Hey, how’s your classes going by the way? Music education, right?” I can practically see the terror inducing smirk on his face as he continues to talk. I swallow past a suddenly dry throat, but Monroe is still talking.

 

“By the way, have you gotten my package yet? I left it on your desk,” I quickly turn to look at my desk, and sure enough, there is a large manila envelope resting in the center of the desk. I rush towards it, wedging the phone in between my shoulder and cheek as I rip it open.

 

“You and Blaine are such neat freaks,” Monroe laughs. My heart stops cold as I look at the contents of the envelope. Pictures. Pictures of me, pictures of Blaine, pictures of Santana, pictures taken everywhere possible. There are pictures of Santana walking around New York, of her in her squad car, some of the two of us in that Starbucks outside of the police office, before we even knew about Monroe’s existence.

 

“You want to know why I came to New York, Kurt? I didn’t leave Europe because I wanted to take my business to the States. I came here because of you, Kurt. I wanted to get to know my family. You being The Siren, and can I just say what a stupid nickname that is, that was just the cherry on top,” Monroe’s voice sends more chills down my spine as I go through all the different pictures. I look through the pictures of Blaine, feeling more and more like throwing up when I see how many of them there are. Pictures of Blaine at the hospital for his classes, pictures of Blaine _in_ his classes, pictures of the two of us walking around New York, holding hands and talking, laughing. And the most sickening are the pictures clearly taken through the window of our dorm room, where you can just see the two of us laying on my bed. Pictures taken in our room, where we are supposed to feel safe.

 

“What the hell do you want with them? They’re innocent, Monroe,” I manage not to make it sound like I want to cry, the fear mounting as I realize how long he’s been following me and the people closest to me.

 

“It’s not really about them, it’s more what they do to _you_. But you know, I’m not without mercy. If you were to, oh I don’t know, leave Blaine’s life forever, I might just ignore the fact he exists,” he sounds way too fucking happy, and I just want to scream and punch something--preferably his face--over and over.

 

“Not going to happen,” I growl. Monroe tsks his tongue at my answer.

 

“Well you see, you don’t really have a choice in the matter, cuz. Because as I’m sure you know, Blaine’s class will get out in fifteen minutes. It’d be a terrible tragedy if something happened to him because you were too stubborn to protect him,” he continues. The fear I was feeling earlier intensifies into terror as the helplessness wells up in me.

 

“What do I need to do?” I whisper brokenly. Monroe grins, I can hear it in his fucking voice, it sounds so pleased at me caving in. A tear rolls down my cheek as he continues to talk.

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out. But believe me, if he tries to contact you in any way, I’ll put a bullet in his brain faster than you can believe. Nice talking to you, cuz! Hope we can do this again sometime soon,” and with that, I hear the click signalling he hung up.

 

I numbly reach up and grab my phone, and then I scream. Not Siren scream, just normal human scream. I scream and I scream, I grab the pencil bin on my desk and throw it at the wall, just needing to do something that matches the agony I feel. I keep throwing things against the wall, I’m pretty sure that somebody comes and bangs on the door. When I open it, it’s an RA.

 

I compel them to forget about any kind of noise complaint. It's the first time I think I’ve ever used my powers for personal gain like that.

 

One more glance at the pictures on my desk reminds me of what I have to do. Because Monroe is right, I have to protect Blaine. I walk over and grab my phone, dialing her number.

 

“About time you fucking call me back, Hummel!” Santana yells at me when she answers, but I’m too numb to care.

 

“I’m going to be showing up outside your door an absolute mess here soon, Santana. So can you please do me a favor and make sure you’re home?” I ask her. Santana shuts up immediately, and instead of anger, she’s obviously confused.

 

“What do you mean, Hummel?” She asks.

 

“Monroe called me just now,” I tell her, looking back at the photos on my desk, “he has pictures. Of me, of you, of Blaine. He said he’d kill him if I didn’t get out of his life,” I admit. Santana gasps, and I know she knows exactly which ‘him’ I’m talking about.

 

“Kurt, we can protect Blaine,” she quickly states.

 

“No we can’t. The only reason we found him when he was kidnapped was because Monroe told us where he was. He’ll kill Blaine if he even tries to contact me,” I start sobbing, knowing that if I don’t do what I need to do, Blaine will die.

 

“The only way I can protect Blaine is if I make him forget,” I manage to get out between sobs.

 

“Don’t be a fucking idiot, Kurt,” Santana yells, and I look over at Blaine’s side of the room, defeated.

 

“It’s the only way, Santana,” I disconnect the call, hearing her yelling at me before I click the end button. Tears continue to roll down my cheeks as I start grabbing my clothes, stuffing them into suitcases. I only have about ten minutes until Blaine’s class ends, but it will take him a little under ten minutes to walk from his building to the dorm. That will be enough time to pack my things.

 

I shove everything into two different suitcases, and by the time I’m done, the only thing on my side of the room is the envelope with all the pictures in it. I look at the time, Blaine should be getting back any second now.

 

My hands shake, my vision blurs from tears, and my heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. Fear has taken root deep in my soul, and all I can think about it how cruel this world is. Six months. That’s all I had to be happy, that’s all the time I got to have with Blaine. I look around the room again, everything is neatly packed away. Soon, it will be like I was never in this room, which is exactly what needs to happen.

 

I wish there was some other way, but there isn’t. The only way to protect Blaine is to do this, I have to leave. Monroe’s proven that he can get to Blaine at anytime, the pictures are proof enough of that. He’s gotten him once already, what’s to stop him from doing so a second time? From getting to him and not kidnapping him this time, but killing him?

 

The door opens behind me, and the tears fall harder. I’m not ready for this. I can’t do it. Why does Monroe have to be so fucking cruel? When will he stop torturing me?

 

“Kurt?” Blaine speaks up, and I hear the door click close seconds before he rushes towards me. I turn around, my heart breaking at the concern on his face as he sees me crying.

 

“Kurt, what’s wrong?” He asks, stepping closer and pulling me into his embrace. I cry harder as I let myself be held by him for the last time. I breath in deep, inhaling Blaine’s scent, trying to memorize this.

 

“Kurt, talk to me,” Blaine pleads, and I pull back. Before I can talk, I lean down, capturing his lips in mine. The kiss is wet from my tears, and even though Blaine is obviously concerned, he kisses me back as much I kiss him.

 

“I love you,” I whisper when I finally pull back.

 

“I love you too, Kurt. Tell me, what’s wrong?” Blaine asks. I force myself out of his grip, watching Blaine’s face mix with confusion as well as concern.

 

“I’m so sorry, Blaine,” I tell him.

 

“Sorry for what?” He asks.

 

“For this,” I whisper, letting my lungs fill with air. At the sound of the first notes, Blaine’s face morphs into understanding, and his eyes immediately widen and he takes a step forward.

 

“Kurt, don’t do this!” He cries out, taking another step forward but that’s all he has before my compulsion takes over.

 

“ _Seasons may change, winter to spring, but I love you until the end of time. Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day,_ ” I launch into the chorus of the only song that seems appropriate. Blaine’s eyes become unfocused, and the tears continue to flow down my cheeks as I keep singing. As the song goes on, I feel Blaine’s thoughts open and start seeing flashes of his life, his memories.

 

“ _Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day,_ ” I break off into sobs as the song comes to an end, but the compulsion does it’s job. I can feel Blaine’s mind open to me, I see the memories that I need to erase for his own good.

 

“Listen to me carefully,” I take a deep breath, watching as Blaine stares at me with those perfect hazel eyes, looking straight through me. “Kurt Hummel was just your roommate your freshman year,” as I speak, I can see the memories I’m talking about come to the forefront of Blaine’s mind. I can see the times we spent in here, talking and laughing. I see the numerous dates we took, holding hands and kissing. I see each and every _I love you_ said by either one of us.

 

“You’re going to go to sleep, and when you wake up, you won’t remember Kurt Hummel as anything other than your roommate last year,” I have to take another deep breath, wanting to fall to the ground and sob, but I have to get through this. I have to protect him.

 

“You won’t remember falling in love with him, you won't remember dating him. You won’t remember he’s the Siren. All you remember is he moved out after your freshman year, and you've been living alone all your sophomore year, ” I stop. It's almost like his memories are fighting me, each one fighting back against my assault until I'm surrounded by his memories of the two of us. I know there's one last thing I need to say, one last thing that will make his memories go away and stop fighting back, but the words stop in my throat and it feels like they are choking me.

 

“You don’t love him,” I finally force the words out, and with that, I watch the memories fade and disappear. Every moment spent with Blaine, they're all forgotten. Every day, every date, every kiss, every I love you, it’s all gone from his memories. I finally tear my mind away from his, falling to the ground sobbing as Blaine mindlessly crawls into bed. My mind explodes in the familiar pain I get from compelling memories away, but the pain in my head is only a fraction of the pain in my heart.

 

I don’t know how long I stay there, sobbing. Long enough that when I get up, my head is throbbing with every step I take. But I take the pain, it’s a reminder that I did what needed to be done. Blaine is protected, Monroe can’t harm him anymore.

 

I make myself grab my suitcases and walk out of the building. I don’t have to walk down the street long until I can call a cab, and I’m aware of the second looks he gives me as I tell him the address to drive to, knowing the mess I must look right now. But he doesn’t say anything, he just drives me to the apartment complex and leaves after I give him the money I owe. I knock on the door, only having to wait a couple seconds for her to open it.

 

“Hummel?” Santana asks in shock, taking in the suitcases and my no doubt tear stained face. I just look up at her, unable to take in much of her concern as I speak up.

 

“Is your couch available?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used is Come What May, which I obviously don't own.


	26. Fourth Time's The Charm

I wake up the next morning with a stiff back and a pounding headache. I groan as I slowly sit up, wincing at the pain in my back and the spinning in my head.

“Good, you’re awake. So I can murder you for being an idiot,” Santana’s sharp voice feels like knives pounding their way into my brain. She slams a glass of water on the table in front of me and a bottle of Advil, which I quickly pop three in and drown the water.

“Quiet, please. My head feels like it’s been split in half,” I mumble, and Santana stands there, her hands on her hips glaring angrily at me.

“Which you fucking deserve. Tell me you weren’t a complete moron and compelled Boy Wonder’s memories of the two of you away,” she demands. Tears well in my eyes as my heart twists painfully.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and I fight to keep the tears from falling when I think of what I’ve done, what Monroe made me do.

“Why the hell didn’t you ask for help?” Santana asks angrily.

“Because it wouldn’t have helped,” I whisper, avoiding Santana’s gaze and feeling too much like a teenager being scolded for breaking curfew right now.

“Of course it would have helped! We could have protected him!” She snaps. I finally look up and glare at her, her anger sparking my own.

“It wouldn’t have helped, Santana. Monroe had pictures of the two of us from _inside_ the police office, one of which was during the meeting before the raid at his warehouse. So tell me, if Monroe could sneak in right under the nose of the police and the FBI _while he was number one on the FBI’s most wanted list_ and escape unscathed, how the hell would Blaine be protected? I did what had to be done in order to protect Blaine, and you know it,” the anger builds up with every word and by the end, I’m yelling at her despite the pounding in my head.

“Then you should have told him! You should have told him what Monroe wanted you to do instead of erasing his fucking memories!” Santana yells back.

“Do you really think that would have done anything? You know Blaine, if I had told him he would have tried to find a way around Monroe, who flatly told me that if he even saw Blaine attempting to contact me, he would kill him!” I screams. Santana for once seems stunned into silence, and I can feel every inch of my body just wanting to scream, just wanting to scream until everything around me is destroyed.

“Kurt,” she whispers, and with that all the energy and anger just pours out of me and I collapse onto the couch, the tears falling even as I stubbornly try to keep them in. Santana doesn’t say anything as I lay my head in my hands and continue crying.

“I just want to know why. I want to know why Monroe keeps playing with me,” I whisper brokenly. I feel Santana awkwardly place a hand on my shoulder and gently pat. I look up at her, seeing uncharacteristically sad eyes looking back at me. Pity, I’ve actually made Santana pity me.

“I keep going over every second I’ve ever spent with him in my mind, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why he keeps playing his mind games. I didn’t know in high school, and I don’t know now. That’s all I need to know, why,” I tell her. Santana sighs, taking her hand off my shoulder and laying it in her lap.

“I wish I could help, Kurt. But sometimes there isn’t an answer. Believe me, I’ve asked myself why people do the things they do so many times during my job. There are some sick people in the world, if I asked myself why they did all the things they do, I’d go crazy. Maybe there isn’t a good answer. Maybe there is. But you can’t make yourself go crazy asking yourself why, Kurt. Just focus on catching the guy,” she says. I don’t have a response to her, I just keep feeling the tears drip down my cheeks and gradually, they stop.

“Now, if you’re done crying all over my couch, let’s go to the office and figure out how to catch this guy once and for all,” Santana finally says. I laugh, grateful that snarky, doesn’t-take-shit-for-anything Santana is back. It was nice having a friend while I break down, but I need bitchy cop Santana in order to take down Monroe.

“Let’s go.”

*******

Two weeks pass. The weather is still freezing cold, suitable for my mood. It seems like every waking moment I’m reminded of the fact that Blaine will never remember me again. I haven’t built up the courage to go see him yet, because despite the pain I know seeing him will cause, I also know that just knowing he’s safe will help calm my worry. Because part of me always thinks that Monroe might be lying, he might have taken Blaine anyways. But I also don’t think Monroe would do that. I think that Monroe knows that it’s harder for me to know that Blaine’s out there and I can’t contact him in any way. Not that it would matter anyways--he doesn’t remember me.

Spring break has just started, and while I’m sure a lot of college students are going south towards warmer weather, I stay put. With school out, I can spend more time at the police offices, pouring over every single scrap of information on Monroe, trying to find the guy. Ironically, it’s not any of the information that causes us to find Monroe, he finds us first.

Well, me.

“Kurt, get over here!” I hear Santana call out. I look up from the current folder I was reading to the corner of the office, where a television is showing a news channel. Someone increases the volume, and I watch and hear as the reporter talks. Monroe is there, screaming at random New Yorkers, causing them to fly through the air from the force of his scream. The camera pans to him, and my blood runs cold at his next words.

“Come out, little Siren! Stop hiding behind your little police officers,” I hear Monroe yelling, and he continues to scream, causing more people to cry out in pain and several of them are knocked back several feet.

“Kurt,” Santana whispers, turning around. But I’m already running back to the conference room, grabbing my jacket. Santana meets me outside the door as I rush towards the front of the building, needing to get back to her apartment to grab my suit.

“Santana, I have to go. Give me your keys,” I quickly tell her, holding my hand out and looking at her pointedly. Santana looks at me concerned, and for some reason, she isn’t giving me the car keys.

“Kurt--”

“Santana, he’s hurting innocent people. I will go face him right now dressed as I am, but I’d like to do it with my suit on because I’d rather the public not know who I am. Now give me your fucking keys or so help me god I will compel you right now,” I growl, watching as Santana reaches into her pocket for her key ring, knowing that I’m not joking. She grabs my wrist after she gives me her keys though, not letting me go for another moment.

“Here, take these too,” she hands me a pair of handcuffs, and I know these are the ones that block my powers. They would hopefully block Monroe’s powers as well. I grab them, but she still doesn’t let go of my wrist.

“Be careful,” she says.

“I will,” I tell her, giving her a quick smile, “see you later, Satan.” She lets go of my wrist, and with that, I run out to the parking lot, where Santana’s car is parked. I quickly get in, driving through the traffic as fast as I can to her apartment. Thankfully, Santana doesn’t live far away from the precinct, and I manage to run in and change into the Siren suit, throwing my mask on and heading out, hopping into her car again. I call Santana once I’m in her car, realizing I actually have no idea where Monroe is.

“Kurt?” Santana answers.

“Does it say where Monroe is?” I ask.

“He’s somewhere in Central Park, but that’s all I can tell,” she responds. I quickly merge into the left hand lane, cutting off about three people and nearly running into a biker but I don’t care.

“Thanks,” I tell her, hanging up as I speed my way towards Central Park. I park a couple blocks away, knowing I won’t be able to move with the traffic as I get closer. I quickly sprint my way towards the park, wondering how I’m going to find Monroe in the enormity that is Central Park.

Luckily, I can just follow the screaming. People run away from one direction, north. So I run that way, and eventually I find him. He’s in the middle of this big open field, screaming at the people running by.

“Monroe!” I yell, causing him to stop screaming at the woman he was currently screaming at. He looks up at me, and I see the woman run away as Monroe stops screaming at her.

“Well, well, well. You actually showed up. The past three times weren’t enough to convince you that you can’t beat me?” Monroe doesn’t wait for an answer, he screams loudly. Probably louder than he did before with the civilians. I wince as he screams, but the distance between us lessens the force of his scream. Still, I know I need to get closer in order to put the handcuffs on him.

I wait until Monroe is finished screaming, and then I sprint towards him. But I'm too far away, and he quickly screams again. I feel my eardrums throbbing as the pain intensifies the closer I get to him, but I force myself to get closer. He stops screaming before he takes another breath, and I don’t get anywhere close to him though when he starts screaming again. This time, I’m close enough to feel the full force of his scream, and I can feel myself being knocked several feet back.

“You see, Kurt? You can’t beat me,” Monroe states. My ears are ringing, but I can still hear him clearly. Why is that? Shouldn’t I be unable to hear anything with how loudly my ears are ringing?

“I can certainly try,” I say, and I get up again. Monroe smirks, and I take another step forward as he screams once again. I cry out in pain, feeling myself fall to the ground as my head feels like it’s about to explode.

“Did you know that your eardrum can burst from the result of a sudden increase in pressure? You know, like what happens when someone stands too close to an explosion? I hear it's incredibly painful. I wonder how loud I have to scream for that to happen?” Monroe tilts his head curiously, but before I can fully comprehend his question he’s screaming again, in a louder and high pitch than last time. I fight back the cry of pain that wants to escape, but not the reaction I have. I manage not to curl into a ball, but I do press myself closer to the ground, like that will do anything. He continues screaming, and as I lay there, I can’t help thinking why I ever thought I could beat him? I never could before, all the times I escaped was because he either let me go, or he was distracted by the police, who had guns.

Why didn’t I bring a gun? That probably would have helped. It’s like the equivalent of bringing a knife to a gunfight.

In between a break from Monroe’s screaming, while my ears are ringing quite loudly, I can’t help but remember the last time I met with Monroe. It was different, it was only the two of us, so why did he let me escape?

Monroe starts screaming again, and this time I can’t keep back the cry of pain. I’m pretty sure he’s successfully ruptured my eardrum, if the throbbing increase in pain is any indication. And while the pain is certainly very distracting, a small part of me thinks what if Monroe didn’t let me escape his compulsion that day? I thought that he was just playing more mind games with me, letting me go after telling me about our familial connection.

But what if he didn’t let me go on purpose? His compulsion had seemed so much weaker, I was able to get out of it on my own, something I hadn’t been able to do during high school whenever he would compel me then.

“Had enough yet, Hummel?” Monroe’s voice sounds far away, and everything hurts. My head feels like it does whenever I compel memories away, and I reach my hand up to my right ear, looking at my fingers that come away stained with blood.

“ _Good times and bum times, I've seen them all, and my dear, I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here_ ,” I start singing softly, so softly I don’t think that Monroe can totally hear me yet. “ _Oh, I've stuffed the dailies in my shoes, strummed ukuleles, I've sung the blues, seen all my dreams disappear, but I'm here._ ”

“What are you doing?” Monroe asks. He’s confused, confused enough that he stops screaming. I look up at him, seeing his eyes widen in recognition as I start singing louder.

“ _Oh, I've stood on bread lines with the best. Watched while the headlines did the rest. In the depression was I depressed? Nowhere near, I met a big financier and I'm here,_ ” I continue to sing. Monroe looks confused, and he lets out another scream. But this one is so much less powerful than his others, it’s easier to work through the pain in my ears and head in order to keep singing.

“ _Reefers and vino, rest cures, religion, and pills, but I'm here. I've been called a 'Pinko', commie tool, got through it stinko by my pool. I should've gone to an acting school, well that seems clear. Oh, still someone said, "She's sincere", so I'm here,_ ” as I keep singing, I rise in volume. It surprises me when I see Monroe’s eyes clouding over. It doesn’t happen quickly, certainly not as quickly as it usually does on someone who’s less powerful. But I can slowly, so so slowly, feel it happening. His mind is opening, inch by tiny inch. He stops screaming after the next verse, but I keep singing.

“ _Black sable one day, next day it goes into hock, but I'm here. Top billing Monday, Tuesday, you're touring in stock, but I'm here_ ,” After the sixth verse, I start to see them. Flashes of memories, a little boy running around in the streets of Paris, a young man talking to his father, memories that belong to the mind that I’m invading. To the mind that still fights to push me out.

“ _Good times and bum times, I've seen 'em all, and I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here_ ,” Monroe continues to stand in his spot, motionless. I take a deep breath, delving deeper into his mind, feeling his resistance start to crumble. While I do that, I finish the final verses of the song.

“ _I got through all of last year, and I'm here. Lord knows, at least I've been there, and I'm here. Look who's here, I'm still here,_ ” the final note reaches its crescendo and I feel it. The last little bit of resistance from Monroe disappears, and I stand there, holding every inch of his consciousness in my hands. My head was already throbbing in pain from Monroe’s screams, and taking control of his consciousness doesn’t help it in the slightest. But I search around and see the memories I’m looking for.

He was seven when he first discovered he had powers. He was eight when they were beaten out of him. He was ten when he started experimenting with them. He was twelve when he first hurt somebody with them. He was sixteen when he first learned he could hold the power of life or death, and he was eighteen when he discovered his love of torture from the boy in Ohio.

I close my eyes, reach for my own power and strength. When I open them, Monroe is staring at me, his eyes unseeing and yet I know he’s looking at me.

“Forget them,” I tell him. And I don’t have to say anything more, I watch as the memories of his powers disappear, get locked away in his own mind somewhere where I'd like to think it's impossible to ever remember them again.  He crumbles to the ground, not unconscious but weak, so much weaker than I've ever seen him before. Not long after he hits the ground, so do I. Through the haze of pain I manage to crawl over to his body, reaching for the handcuffs in my utility belt and buckle them onto his wrists. I try to stand up, to signal to the police that it’s safe to enter the safety barrier they put up to keep the civilians out. But the moment I stand, a huge wave of pain rolls through my head and my vision becomes hazy. I fall to the ground, and I’m unconscious before I hit the ground.

 


	27. Running Away or Recuperating? There's a Difference?

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are approaching our final descent, so if you would please put your seats in an upright position and bring your tray tables up, we will be landing shortly,_ ” I continue looking out at the clouds as they continue to pass by, watching as we get lower and lower to the ground. The woman next to me continues to sleep through the captain’s message, and I’m can see the man I’m pretty sure is her husband packing up his laptop that he was typing away on the entirety of the flight.

When we land, I want to get the hell of the plane as soon as possible, but I have to wait while everybody takes their sweet ass time to get off the plane. Still, I eventually make it off the plane, wincing as my ears throb lightly in pain. The doctors told me I shouldn’t fly so soon after surgery, my eardrums weren’t healed enough to handle the pressure change in the air, but I ignored them. Probably not my best idea now that I think about it, but I needed to get away for awhile, someplace that didn’t remind me with every step I took of the one person I probably won’t ever be able to see again.

Thankfully, my bag is one of the first to make its way to baggage claim, so I’m able to grab it and head out relatively fast. I follow the signs towards ground transportation, managing to find a cab and give him the familiar address. He tries to make conversation with me at first, but quickly picks up on the fact that I’d really rather not talk. My head hurts too much.

During the drive there, I look down at my phone, debating. I know what will greet me when I turn it on, I’ll be bombarded by messages from Santana and Rachel. I really don’t want to deal with them right now, so I return the useless phone to my pocket and continue to look out the window.

When the driver enters town, I quickly change my mind about where to go. I tell him of the change of plans, and he complies, turning right down the street he would have turned left. He drops me off in front of the creaking gate, and I hand him the overpriced cab fair before he speeds away. Sighing, I grab the suitcase next to me and open the gate, which lets out a loud creak as I do so. It clangs shut behind me, and I look down the dirt path. I let out another sigh, dragging the suitcase behind me as I follow the path until I turn right off of the path, weaving my way through several rows of tombstones before I stop in front of two. One of them is clearly older, much more worn from the weather, dark grey instead of the white stone it used to be. The other is newer, still weathered, still less white, but both of them still clearly say the names of the occupants currently in the ground under them.

Burt Hummel. Elizabeth Hummel. Two seperate birth and death dates, both of their lives represented by a simple little line in between them. I’m not aware of sitting down on the wet ground until I feel the water seeping through my pants. I cross my knees in front of my chest and hold them, looking at the two gravestones in front of me.

I don’t try to talk to them. I know they’re dead. They won’t hear me or anything. I don’t believe in Heaven or souls, there isn’t some lingering piece of them somewhere that’s looking down at me sitting at their graves right now. I just sit there, in front of all that remains of my family.

The sun is considerably lower in the sky when I finally get up. I’ve been sitting there for a couple hours, just looking. When I finally decide to stand up, I don’t know where I’m going to go. I know there’s a motel about a mile or so up the road, but instead of turning right I end up going left, and I’m halfway there before I even realize it. But eventually I’m walking into a familiar neighborhood and then I see the same exact rose garden that hasn’t changed in the two, nearly three years since I left here.

I ring the doorbell, and briefly hope they still live here before the door opens.

“Kurt?” She asks. I look up to see the face of my stepmother, her eyes widening in shock as she sees me standing on the front porch I vowed never to return to. She looks next to me and sees my suitcase, and doesn’t say another word before she quickly grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a tight hug.

I hear her crying, she says something about being so worried about me, so happy that I’m finally home, and as she holds me so tight I feel like my ribs will crack, I feel my own tears threatening to fall. I just wrap my arms around her, and I hear her start crying harder. She finally pulls back and wipes her cheeks, holding the door open wide enough so that I can come inside.

“Come in, hun,” she says, and I smile thankfully as I step inside my old home. The hallway is still the same, still lined with the same pictures, the coats are still hung in the same spot, the keys still hanging right there next to them. I follow Carole into the living room, the television is on some commercial right now, but like the hallway the living room hasn’t changed.

“Finn! Come down here!” Carole yells up the stairs, and she turns to look at me again, her eyes still wide like she can’t believe that I’m actually here.

“Finn’s home for spring break. I’m almost finished with dinner, but you can put your suitcase in your old room,” Carole explains, and it looks like she’s about to say something else but Finn comes down the stairs and stops in his tracks, looking at me like I’m some alien.

We stand there, both of us looking at each other in silence. I remember the last time we saw each other, how we both were trying to beat the crap out of the other.

“Good to see you, little brother,” Finn finally says. I let out a relieved smile, looking up at him still standing there at the base of the stairs.

“You too, Finn,” I tell him. And as if that was some kind of cue, he takes the couple steps from the stairs to me and pulls me into his hug. Unlike Carole’s hug, which took me several moments to respond, I quickly return the hug. Finn lets me go after a couple seconds, and when I look over at Carole it looks like she’s about to cry.

“Dinner’s just about ready, I’ll go finish it,” she says, and it sounds like she’s about to start sniffling as she disappears into the kitchen. I’m pretty sure she just had to leave to pull herself back together because it’s not even two minutes later that she’s calling Finn and I into the kitchen.

It’s silent as we fill our plates, and it’s still quiet for several moments as we sit down at the table, all three of us waiting for someone else to start talking.

“I’m sorry I left,” I finally speak up, looking at Carole who looks like she’s about to start crying again.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Carole whispers, reaching across the table and grabbing my hand. I shake my head, not letting her just brush it off.

“No, it’s not, and I can’t make it right, but I can try to help you understand why I did,” I tell her. I glance over at Finn, who’s sitting there and listening intensely already. I sigh, feeling Carole squeeze my hand and I smile at the reassurance.

“Dad and I got into a huge fight before he had his second heart attack. I don’t know if you remember, I came home that fall break, and it was during that time he discovered that I had powers,” I watch their reactions, knowing they already knew about them from my reaction at the hospital but I don’t know how they’ll react to me being so open to them. They don’t have any visible reaction, and Carole squeezes my hand again.

“We had a huge fight once he realized that I was actually using them in New York. I told him that I was being safe, but he didn’t believe me. I hadn’t even been named as The Siren yet, but when he found out he got scared. Understandably, of course, but when I tried to explain myself he got pissed. And of course, I got mad, and we ended up yelling at each other and saying some pretty horrible things I know neither of us meant. But then the next day he had his heart attack and I _knew_ I was the reason--”

“No, you weren’t, Kurt,” Carole immediately interrupts, and I want to cry at the sincerity in her statement.

“I should never have fought with him, we all know he wasn’t supposed to raise his blood pressure, and the fight was bad, Carole. But after he woke up, we apologized for the things we said but I told him I wasn’t going to stop helping people. I could tell he didn’t like it, but he didn’t say anything about it. And then you told me he was getting better and I needed to go back to college, and I thought it was all over,” I stop, needing a moment before continuing. Thankfully, Carole and Finn stay silent, Carole’s hand in mine giving me a tether to hold onto as I keep talking.

“You called me while I was in the air, and I’ve never felt fear like I did when I listened to your voicemail, at least not until recently. So when I came back and he was dead, I blamed myself. If I never became the Siren, he wouldn’t have had that second heart attack and the third. He would still be alive. But he was dead, because of me. And I told myself it was my fault--”

“Kurt, you know that’s not true,” Carole interrupts again, and I have to avoid her eyes, unable to look at her because I can feel her gaze and I can’t look at it just yet.

“I’m trying to tell myself that it wasn’t, but I can’t help thinking it is. And so I told myself that you guys were better off without me, and then we had that fight in the hospital,” I look up at Finn as I say this, who’s still watching with wide eyes, “and I accidently hurt you,” I look over at Carole, who has tears rolling down her cheeks, “and it just solidified it all for me. I thought you guys were better off without me because I told myself my only family was gone forever and it was all my fault,” by now I’m crying. I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, but I force myself to look at Carole, who’s so clearly hurting for me that it makes me just want to curl in her lap like I’m a five year old needing a mother’s hug.

“And then I found out I had other family but it was the guy who made my life a living hell the past seven months, who tortured me and made me give up the best thing that will ever happen to me. And I couldn’t tell you guys because you were better off without me, with your real family here in Ohio,” I can’t continue talking. My throat seems closed from the choked off sobs that want to escape, but I can’t let them go because despite everything I still think that I need to be strong for these guys. I have to present the strongest version of myself because if I break down now I’m scared I’ll never stop.

“Oh, sweetie, you were family the moment you brought your father into our lives. Blood isn’t the only thing that defines who your family is. Family is the people that you love, who love you back, and would do anything for you. You have your blood family, Kurt. But you’ve also made your own, and I for one am honored to be able to call you my son,” Carole says. At her words I finally allow myself to let the sobs that want to escape out. Carole stands up out of her chair and pulls me into her hug, and I lay my head on her shoulder and cry.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeat over and over. I hear Finn stand up and then comes on the other side of me, wrapping his arms around both Carole and I as I continue to repeat my apologies. I sit there for I don’t know how long, but eventually it makes it into my head what Carole just said. I’ve pushed them away for so long, built so many walls around myself, I never let myself face the truth. I’ve always had a family, I was just always too scared to let them in.

Carole eventually pulls away first, followed by Finn. All of us wipe our cheeks of tears, and go back to eating dinner. After that, it wasn’t awkward at all anymore. Finn cracks jokes, Carole tells stories, and I jump in every so often.

After dinner, Finn leaves to meet up with some of his college friends. At first, he said that he could plead out, saying he needed to hang around home for the day. But I manage to convince him we can catch up later. So he leaves and Carole and I sit on the couch, talking about the last couple of years.

It’s then that I tell her everything. I tell her about getting my powers, about Dad finding out, moving to New York and becoming the Siren. She hangs onto my every word while I tell her everything that happened between me and Monroe, and I also tell her all about Blaine.

It hurts, but it helps too, to be able to talk to somebody about it.

“And that’s why I had to leave. It seems like everything in New York keeps reminding me that even though I beat him, Monroe still won. Blaine won’t remember me again,” I finally say. Carole wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into yet another hug.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Kurt, is that the human mind is a strange thing. We are nowhere near close to understanding it all. Never say never,” she whispers. I sigh, letting her hug me for another moment before pulling back. I smile gratefully, and we go back to watching the random cooking show that had been playing like no time at all has past.

********

A couple days later I finally turn my phone back on. Like I expected, it takes a few seconds before the text messages start coming in, closely followed by voicemails. I respond to Rachel’s messages, giving her a bullshit reason about why I skipped our brunch plans three days ago. Santana’s messages take a little while to comb through, and I don’t even start listening to any of the voicemails before I decide the only thing that will suffice will be a phone call.

“You better be dead and this is your ghost talking to me, because if you’re not dead, Hummel, you will be when I get my hands on you,” Santana says when she picks up. Despite the threat, I smile.

“Hello to you too, Santana,” I tell her.

“What the hell, Hummel? You disappear from the hospital the day after your surgery, and I had no clue where you were or if you were alive or dead. Everybody’s looking for you, we still have a shit ton of work to do to wrap up Monroe’s organization, and you’re nowhere to be found. Where the hell are you?” Santana demands.

“I’m in Ohio,” I tell her. She goes silent, and I can’t help but smirk at that. Yeah, thought that would be her reaction.

“Seriously?” Santana asks, and if I didn’t know any better, it almost sounds like she’s shocked.

“Yeah. I just… I had to get away for a little. My spring break ends tomorrow, and I’ve already emailed my professors saying that I have a family crisis. They don’t need to know it’s me having the crisis,” I say.

“You’re actually in Ohio. You’re not just shitting with me,” Santana asks again. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, I’m in Ohio. I know, I didn’t expect it either. I just needed to leave the hospital, I had so many people doting on me and after Monroe, I just needed to be alone. I didn’t even plan it, I just went back to your apartment and packed, hopped onto the first plane out here, and luckily Carole and Finn forgive me,” I explain. Santana sighs, and it takes another moment before she talks again.

“How long are you planning on being in Ohio?” She asks.

“I don’t know. A week maybe? I just, I need some time. I need to come to terms with the fact that he’s never going to remember me,” I sigh.

“You don’t know that,” Santana immediately states.

“You and Carole both say the same thing. But you weren't there. You didn’t have to watch as all the memories you shared disappeared,” I whisper, my words bringing up the memories and the memories make me tear up again.

“Then come back and make him remember,” Santana demands.

“I don’t think it works like that, Santana,” I sigh.

“You don’t know that! You just got this power this year, you have no idea how it works and if forgotten memories can come back. All you’re doing right now is running away,” Santana snaps.

“Yeah, well, maybe I need to run away for a little bit. I’ll be back next week, Santana. See you then,” I say, hanging up on her before she says anything else. I sigh as I put my phone back in my pocket, grabbing my laptop and pulling it open. I wasn’t joking when I said that I was coming back in a week, I can’t take much longer than that if I still want to graduate on time. So instead of facing the reason I’m running away, or recuperating depending on how you look at it, I might as well spend my time here trying to forget. 

 


	28. Reunited

A week and a half later, I’m in the airport once again. I walk through JFK airport towards baggage claim, once again grabbing my bag and planning on hopping into a cab. Once I get down to baggage claim though, I see Santana standing right there in the middle of everything, her arms crossed over her chest and glaring at the escalator. She’s right in the middle, so she’s making everybody move, but nobody dares to say a thing because if that bitch look she’s giving wasn’t enough to deter people, she’s in her uniform. Unfortunately, as soon as she sees me, she directs that bitch look to me and I immediately wish I had never texted her my flight information.

“Let’s go,” she says, shoving me towards the baggage claim. Thankfully, like last time, I don’t have to wait long before getting my bag, and we walk in silence towards her parked squad car.

“You’re lucky people care about your spandex covered ass otherwise I’d kill you and hide your body. And trust me, I grew up in Lima Heights Adjacent, I know how to kill somebody painfully,” she sharply states as we start driving towards her apartment.

“Please, you care about my spandex covered ass, and don’t you forget it,” I joke with her, looking over to see her crack a small smile before she makes it disappear.

“Can we please stop talking about your ass? It makes me want to throw up,” she says, and that’s how I know we are good. I chuckle lightly, glancing out the window to watch as we drive farther into the city.

Eventually, we make it back to her apartment, where the couch is set up once again for me to sleep on. I thank her, and Santana has to go back to the station for the rest of her shift, so I end up spending the day on her couch alone.

I take the subway back to NYU the next morning, trying to force myself back into the groove of things. But every time I step onto campus, I can’t help glancing around, trying to see a familiar head of dark gelled curls. Every time I think I spot him, I just manage to force myself not to shout out, especially seeing as none of them end up being Blaine.

But that weekend, Santana ends up having to work all day Saturday. So instead of spending it all cooped up in her apartment, I make myself get out and walk. I don’t know why, but eventually I find myself walking the couple blocks down towards Central Park.

As I walk, I look around, different memories assaulting me at the same time. The most painful isn’t the fight with Monroe, it’s the memories of all the times I would come here with Blaine.

I stop at the bridge we walked down during our first date, looking out at the clearing where I fought Monroe. I lean against the railing, it’s actually not cold for once. The sun has warmed the metal during the abnormally warm April day.

I’m taken away from my thoughts by someone bumping into my shoulder. I look back, about to tell the probably tourist to watch where they’re going, when my heart plummets to the ground and my breathe seems to leave all in one breath.

It’s Blaine.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he smiles, and my heart breaks all over again at seeing that smile again. He pushes up his glasses with the pointer finger of his hand, and like always, I watch as they slide back down his nose again.

“Hey, you seem pretty familiar, have we met before?” _We fell in love before. Before when everything was all messed up but we were perfect. Then you were in danger and I had to make you forget._

“Kurt Hummel, right? It’s Blaine, we were roommates last year, do you remember?” Blaine continues talking, his eyes lightening up in recognition as he remembers the fake memories I gave him.

“Right, Blaine,” it kills me to say his name like he means nothing. Like he isn’t the last face I remember before I go to sleep, the first one I think about when I wake up. Blaine smiles again, putting his hands in his pockets as he continues to stand there, completely oblivious the the fact that I’m dying inside with each second that he doesn’t remember who I am.

Because _I_ made him forget. He’s safe and protected from a threat that’s no longer there but I can’t make him remember again.

“Yeah! Are you still going to NYU?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah, I am. Are you still studying pre-med?” I ask like I don’t know. Blaine nods, and his smile seems so easy, he seems so happy. At least I have that, at least he’s happy.

“Yeah, still killing myself with that major,” he laughs at his own joke, and I manage to force a smile on my face as he chuckles.

“It was nice seeing you again, Kurt!” Blaine grins.

“You too, Blaine,” I tell him softly. Blaine waves at me, and then he’s walking away and it takes everything in me to not fall to the ground sobbing. I turn back around, leaning heavily on the rail as I struggle to breathe past the pain in my chest. This is why I had to leave, I thought I’d be able to face him again but I can’t and it’s killing me and I have to leave again. I have to leave because I can’t stand to be here, thinking that he’s somewhere in the city and he just _doesn’t remember._

“Kurt?” Once again, my heart seems to stop at the soft utterance of my name from behind me.

“Kurt?” There it is again, this time clearer and clearly right behind me, all I have to do is turn around and I’ll see who it is. I can’t help but get my hopes up because it sounds _exactly_ like him but it can’t be--can it?

No. I made him forget. Still, why can’t I turn around?

“Kurt,” the third time he says my name seems to finally unfreeze my body and I turn around, the hazel eyes were so wide, looking at me in awe and shock and what causes my heart to clench is the recognition in his face.

“Kurt, what did you do to me?” He asks, and I watch as those eyes fill with unshed tears, and I can’t hope that he remembers but why else would he be standing there, looking at me like that?

“Blaine,” I whisper, but whatever else I was going to say gets caught in my throat as he steps closer towards me. My hands are shaking, and I want so badly to reach out and touch him but I’m scared this is all a dream and I’ll wake up in two seconds, remembering that he doesn’t remember me.

“I remember you. But you erased my memories, how?” Blaine breaths, and he reaches his own shaking hands out and grabs my own, and it’s that that causes the tears to fall down my cheeks.

“I don’t know? You remember?” I ask, looking from our clasped hands to his face. He nods, and before I say anything else he’s launching towards me and pressing his lips against mine.

I didn’t even know I was drowning until he kissed me. His kiss seemed to breathe the life back into me, and it was like I could finally breathe again. The weight on my chest lifted and I could breathe fresh air for the first time in my life.

“I love you,” I whisper when we pull away. Blaine smiles at me, and I want to laugh at the giddiness the builds up in me. Suddenly though, Blaine presses both hands on my chest and _shoves_.

“You-” _shove_ “are-” _shove_ “a complete-” _shove_ “dick!” _shove_. He successfully shoves me across the bridge and I collide into the rail on the opposite side of the bridge and look at him with wide eyes.

“You’re an asshole, Kurt!” He yells, and I can see some of the people passing by looking at us curiously, but Blaine is on a roll and won’t be stopped by something as simple as second looks.

“What part of ‘ _never make me forget_ ’ did you not understand? Why did you think that making me forget was the best course of action for either of us?” Blaine demands.

“You don’t understand, he was going to kill you if I didn’t,” I tell him. Blaine glares daggers at me, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him this pissed off.

“ _I don’t care_! You’re the love of my life, Kurt! Promise me you’ll never do that again,” Blaine yells. Despite his anger, I can’t help but smile when he calls me the love of his life.

“I promise,” I whisper. Blaine’s sudden anger finally disappears and he pulls me into a tight hug, which I eagerly respond to. I want to cry and laugh and dance when I feel him bury his face in my neck.

“When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you don’t have to save everyone? Let me save you this time,” he whispers, laying a hand on my cheek and leaning in, kissing me before I have a chance to respond.

“You did save me. I didn’t know I was broken until you started healing me, Blaine. I love you,” I whisper back when we part once again. Blaine smiles as he reaches down and grabs my hand, lacing his fingers with mine easily.

And without another word, we start walking down the same path we’ve walked together before.

******

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“The police rescinded their arrest warrant on the Siren,” at Claire’s words, I look up from my desk. My laptop is open in front of me, where I was typing away on a google document for my boss, basically summarizing the important notes from the meeting she had to miss.

“Wait, really? I thought they were trying to arrest him for ages,” Janet gasps loudly. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, _of course_ it’s Janet and Claire gossiping about the Siren. I swear, those two never get any actual work done, they just sit around talking about New York’s superhero all the time.

“They were, but it’s because of him that that bad guy in Central Park a month ago was stopped. You remember that, right?” Janet nods at Claire’s question, so Claire continues. “I read an article about it. Apparently, the guy the Siren stopped was the head of this huge international organisation that stole a whole bunch of priceless paintings from all over the world.” Janet gasps loudly, and I have to force myself not to roll my eyes again.

“Wait, really? That’s so cool,” Janet states. I sigh, looking away from the workplace gossips and back at my laptop, finishing up my notes before I get up, heading for Isabelle’s door. I knock on the open door, causing her to look up from her own laptop, her glasses that she only ever wears in private on her face.

“Hey, Isabelle, do you mind if I head out a little bit early? I just finished up that document I was working on for you,” I tell her.

“Really? Oh, thank you so much, Kurt! And yeah, go right ahead,” she says, smiling widely. I grin, thanking her before heading to my desk quickly, grabbing my things and heading for the subway. I look at my phone, frowning at the time, but before I can send a quick text, the train comes.

I hop onto the subway, and once it reaches my stop I quickly get out, practically running down the street to the restaurant.

“You’re late, Hummel!” Santana immediately shouts when I see the table. I roll my eyes, taking my jacket off and laying it on the back of the chair.

“Like you’ve never been late, Satan. I’m surprised you’re actually here on time,” I reply, feeling a hand on my waist from behind me. I smile as I turn around, seeing Blaine has gotten up from his seat next to me. I watch his smile widen as I kiss his cheek.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi,” he replies back, his smile wide as we both take our seats.

“Okay, now that Kurt is here can we get some food? Because I’m starving,” Rachel remarks, causing me to look over at her sitting opposite me. Santana makes another remark, to which Rachel gives an equally sarcastic response, and Blaine jumps in the middle trying to get them to calm down.

We eventually manage to order our food with little arguments, and soon we’re all laughing and talking as if we’ve known each other all our lives. Blaine’s in the middle of a story when Santana gets a call, and when she looks at her phone, I know immediately it’s important. She gets up to take it, and Blaine glances over at me, I can feel his gaze on me as I watch Santana.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go,” she says, glancing over at me. She raises her eyebrow just slightly, in a look I know by heart now. _You coming or not?_

“Me too. Rachel, I’ll talk to you later,” I interrupt her questions about why I’m leaving too and it’s not like I work for the police like Santana does. Oh Rachel, if only you knew the real story.

“I’ll see you later,” I tell Blaine, kissing his cheek just like I did before. He smiles widely again, and reaches around to hug me.

“Be careful,” he whispers in my ear. I pull back, staying close enough so that nobody can overhear.

“I will. Besides, if anything goes wrong, I got my healer right here,” I grin, kissing Blaine on the lips this time before grabbing my coat and following Santana to her car.

“You ready?” She asks. I smile as I reach into my bag, pulling out my suit and mask.

“You know it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. So first I have to say to each and every one of you guys thank you. Your comments, your kudos, every time I get the email that there's a new kudo or comment on this story makes me do a happy dance. You guys make every late night wondering if this works or maybe if I do this and holy-shit-it's-already-two-am-I-should-really-get-to-bed all worth it. I can honestly say I never would have started writing if it wasn't for this platform. So seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. 
> 
> I love you guys!


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